I Fae
by Dear Abbie
Summary: Faeries and Elves are the same, right? Not exactly. They're both the magical children of Iluvatar, but they seem to have a sibling rivalry...New Uploads! Please R&R. I'm told it's worth the read. Poppy angst!
1. First Installment Chapters 1 to 4: Popp...

WARNING* This story contains huge spoilers! But don't worry! If you haven't read the books, then you can just lean back and relax with the foreknowledge that Tolkien wrote stories full of fairytale archetypes. And, in all fairytales, it is expected that: 1) the good guys win, and 2) that someone either dies or lives happily ever after in the end. Those expectations aren't really spoilers, are they? So if my story follows these expectations, then there really aren't any spoilers in it. 

ú ô ö î í â (Test for characters/symbols used in story)

Disclaimer: All original characters belong to their original maker, Mr. J. R. R. Tolkien. No infringement of copyright law was intended. If suit is filed, I'll feed the lawyers to my Balrog (This lawsuit shall not pass!).

Author's note: I decided to change a few things, but nothing major! I pretended that Frodo was born in 1378, so that in the year 1420, he would be forty-two (about 28 in human years using the 2/3 human age/ hobbit age ratio). I decided to decrease his age simply because of my feelings after seeing the movie; I can no longer visualize the character Frodo as being the age written in the book (50). To me, he does seem very young. (My reasoning behind the last statement: 1) his best friends are rather young hobbits, 2) he fights to master his child-like emotions and to control his anger on various occasions, and 3) he relies on those older than himself for guidance, such as Aragorn and Gandalf, in a manner that reveals an adolescent insecurity.)

This story follows the books' canon faithfully until the very end of the War of the Ring--specifically, when Aragorn is wed. Because I have the power as an author to do so, I chose instead for him not to be married just yet, and I sent the hobbits home to the Shire a little early. I thought they needed to go home and fix things in the Shire instead of patter around Gondor for a few extra months in the aftermath of the War. Besides, Sam really missed his garden and his gaffer, and he wanted to go home! 

I hope you enjoy this story immensely and find it worth your while. I have entertained myself for a few weeks by researching old lore and Tolkien's stories to create this little ditty, and I hope you get curious enough after reading this to explore the realm of European, Oriental, and Native-American fairy-lore. It's very interesting stuff. With that said, read on!

  
  
  
  


I. The Return of the Ring-bearer

  
  


When the hobbits returned home in November, they found their beloved Shire in shambles.

Ruffians, robbers, thieves, and rogue orcs had attempted to make the Shire their own during the War of the Ring. But rallied by the arrival of the seemingly-fearless hobbits from the Fellowship of the Ring, the Hobbits of the Shire had staged a revolt. Merry and Pippin had led the attack against the ruffians, and because it was their courage that pushed the hobbits' attack forward against the enemy in what was later called the "Battle of Bywater," they had landed themselves a place as heroes in the hearts of all in the Shire. 

Frodo and Sam had gone the day after the battle to release the poor hobbits that the ruffians had kept prisoner. Among the prisoners was the surly Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, now a widow and childless (her son, Lotho, had been killed in the spring). They found that her spirit had changed. She was now a quiet, mousey old hobbit who was very glad when Frodo came to her rescue. She was so glad, in fact, that she had given both Bag End and Lotho's inheritance to Frodo; the money, she said, was to be used to help all the hobbits who had been hurt by the fighting. Then she left Hobbiton to spend the end of her days with her family, the Bracegirdles. Frodo's friend, Fredegar "Fatty" Bolger, Fatty no longer, was also among the prisoners, and when they found him, he was almost too weak to stand. Near Fatty's cell in the Lockholes was old Will Whitfoot, who asked Frodo to take over his role as mayor until he recovered, and Frodo could not refuse the old hobbit's request. So Frodo became mayor, and for nearly six months, he, Merry, Pippin and Samwise worked together to restore the Shire: Frodo, Merry, and Pippin worked furiously to rebuild architecture and tear down ruffian camps, while Sam took the role of replenishing the greenery. For all of their efforts, the spring of 1420 was the most beautiful that the Shire had ever seen. 

Their work involved a lot of travel. On this rather short trip, Sam whistled one of Bilbo's traveling songs as he rode on the back of the old wagon that bounced along the worn East Road between Hobbiton and Buckland. He was dressed like a prince. He wore mail and his elven cape because Merry and Pippin had said that the roads were dangerous enough that there was still a need to wear protective armor. It had only been eight months since Frodo and his friends had left the company of Aragorn at the Gap of Rohan, and six months since the Battle of Bywater. It was now April, and Frodo had decided that it was time to move the things he had inherited from Bilbo, currently being stored in Frodo's small house at Crickhollow, back to Bag End in order to make the home a comfortable place where he and Sam could live near the old gaffer, Sam's father. The old gaffer was a cause for concern to Sam, for now the gaffer was quite an old hobbit, and his health often declined in the winter months. Sam was very glad to soon be living close enough to Hobbiton to keep one eye on the gaffer and his other eye on pretty Miss Rosie Cotton. 

Sam thought dreamily of Rosie until he was roused by the sound and the fresh smell of the Brandywine River as it grew ever nearer, and he was pleased to feel the shade of the beech trees on his face. He turned himself around from where he sat cross-legged on the back of the wagon. He could see that Frodo was driving the ponies, Bill and Strider, up the path, and Merry and Pippin were chewing sunflower seeds on the long driver's bench beside Frodo. Merry and Pippin swayed with the wagon and seemed strangely quiet as they nibbled the seeds. 

"There's the bridge up ahead, Frodo,"said Merry, stirring suddenly and pointing some distance up the river bed.

"I don't see it yet, Merry. Your eyes must be better than mine," replied Frodo, straining his eyes to see any bridge-shaped shadows on the gleaming river. 

" I didn't say I saw it, Frodo. I just know it's there."

Of course, Meriadoc Brandybuck was correct. For this was his country even more than Frodo's, and he knew it very well. In very little time, they came to the bridge, and Sam leaned over the side of the wagon to stare into the clear waters as they crossed it. In the fast-moving water, Sam saw the shimmering backs of silver trout, and he was suddenly reminded of Gollum, who used to eat fish such as these raw. He was glad when the wagon clattered over to the other side and they were once again over the dusty road.

"Mr. Frodo," called Sam over the jolly racket of the ponies' hooves, "Where are we going now? Are we going to stop and see Gandalf and Mr. Bombadil?"

Frodo shook his head sadly. "No, Gandalf and Tom Bombadil have business together. He'll find us sooner or later. We're going to turn South now to the High Hay path."

The High Hay was a pleasant drive that wound around the trees of the Old Forest, and the hobbits were refreshed by the woody scents and the wild sounds of the wood. Pippin and Merry wore secret smiles on their faces as they looked at the trees, for these old growths reminded them of their pleasant time in Fangorn where they had met their friends, the Ents. Frodo looked on, wary of the old woods, and his normally flushed face looked very pale. Truthfully, Frodo wasn't really as well as he pretended he was. Only a week ago, Frodo had closed himself away in the dark, empty rooms of Bag End, and wrapped himself in every cloak and blanket he could find. His hand had burned for the Ring with a consuming fire, and an awful cold chill had settled upon him during the last days of March. The chill had only become bearable three days ago, and he became himself again when Sam returned from the Whitfurrows. He never told Sam that he had been ill.

The sun sank into the West and the sky burned red and violet when the hobbits approached Crickhollow's long driveway. The trees there were big and burly like those of the Old Forest, and their shadows were long upon the ground. Frodo wondered idly what shape of disrepair that the house had fallen into since Freddy Bolger had been captured and could no longer take care of the property. He hoped that no harm had befallen Bilbo's things, especially his books. On the outside, the house looked fine when they drew near it. The only difference from the usual that Frodo could see was that the turf roof of the house was blooming with wild flowers: cowslip and primrose blossomed yellow, and the pale primrose mingled with lavender buds and blue periwinkle. Clover bloomed white and red, and crimson poppy blooms stared over the yellow eaves of the house with their sad black eyes. 

Frodo halted the wagon and jumped from his perch, giving the ponies, Bill and Strider, affectionate pats before Sam loosed them and led them out to the pasture behind the house to graze and find water. Merry and Pippin hopped off the driving bench to collect their packs from the back of the wagon, while Frodo fished in his waistcoat pocket for the key to the house. He produced the key, and strode to the great round door and turned the key in the lock.

Frodo expected quite a large bit of dust in the house, and he closed his eyes for a moment to shield himself from the puffs of dust. To his surprise, when he opened his eyes and they adjusted to the shadows, he saw that the house was clean and orderly, and his old cloak was still hanging on the hook in the entryway. The entry hall was quite dark, for it was nightfall now, and Frodo went to the far window to open it and allow some moonlight and fading sun rays to illuminate the hall. He unhooked the latch, causing the window to squeak open. Fresh night air pored in, and he sighed as it caressed his face with cool fingers. Suddenly, he felt a bitter cold sharpness at his throat. He gasped when he realized what it was. Someone was holding a dagger to his neck.

"Don't move,"said a voice behind him; it was hoarse and low. "I can see that you are armed, but so am I. Lay your sword on the sill."

  
  
  
  
  
  


II. Mistaken Identity

  
  
  
  


Frodo took Sting out of it's sheath very, very slowly without turning away from the window or disturbing the blade at his throat. He laid it on the sill, but it was still within his reach. He wanted to call for Pippin and Merry, but he could not find his voice. 

"Who are you? Identify yourself," demanded the voice. It was unnaturally low. 

Frodo slowly turned around, and the blade did not leave his throat, but shifted to follow his movement. He could see little of the assailant in front of him, for the moon had cast his lean shadow over the face of the person. The blade glittered at his neck, and the hand gripping it was not the hand of a ruffian. The hand was small and clean, as well as white-knuckled and frightened. It held the blade with a delicate strength.

Frodo said, "I am Frodo Baggins, Son of Drogo, and the owner of this house." Frodo's reply was strong and sure, and it added to the surreal, otherworldly appearance that he had at the moment: he was backlit by the moon, his mithril coat gleamed at his neck, and his head was haloed with pure silver light. He looked very much like a lord of great power.

The dagger retreated from his neck very quickly; he heard it drop to the floor, and the shape before him fell to its knees. 

"Forgive me, Master Baggins. I didn't know who you were. I thought you were one of the rogues that are prowling about. I beg your pardon, sir!" pleaded the voice. Frodo now understood why the voice had before sounded so unnatural in the lowness of its tone, for now the voice was high and clear. It had been a girl that was his assailant, feigning a masculine tone in order to intimidate him. Now all the pretense was dropped, and the voice was definitely that of a hobbit-lass', and it was accented with sounds from the hills of the North. 

Frodo moved out of the moonlight's path, and the beams fell on the hobbit on the floor. The aspect of her that struck him first was the fiery red hair that pooled about her prostrate form, and the frightened tears that he could see on her pale cheeks.

"Don't be afraid of me," said Frodo, whose heart was full of compassion. "Who are you? And why are you here? Stand up, let me see who you are."

She arose very slowly, cautiously, and raised her eyes to him, round with fear and wet with tears. Frodo was a bit confused, for at first glance, she appeared to be very much a hobbit, but when he saw her slender frame and small feet, he began to reconsider her lineage. 

She said very softly, "I'm Poppy--"

At that instant, Merry and Pippin pushed open the door and came in with their arms and backs burdened with packs, chattering and laughing. "Frodo? Oh, there you are. Where do we put these..." Merry stopped, noticing the girl and gave a bow. "Hello, m'lady." He quickly dropped his packs and stashed them around the corner in the side hall. He straightened, and brushed himself off with a broad smile. "My name's Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of the Thain. I see you've met Frodo," he gave Frodo a glance, and then looked to Pippin. 

Pippin suddenly started. He followed Merry's lead and dropped his packs, then grinned. "Hullo! The name's Peregrin Took, son of Paladin, but my friends call me Pippin." Pippin took her hand, and with quite a show of bravado, kissed it with the courtliness of a knight.

She stared at the tall, robust-looking hobbits, and said, "I--I hope I'm a friend. I'm Poppy Marigold Fairgoold-Took, daughter of Addleton. I should explain..."

"Please do,"said Frodo. "But first, I'd like to have us all here so that you don't have to explain twice."

"How many more are in your company?" she asked slowly, calculating exactly how many more hobbits the little house could hold.

"Oh, there's just one more. He's my friend, Sam. He'll be along in a minute."

"Then, I think I should set the table for four......This story is a long one, and you look like you could use some refreshment,"said Poppy, before curtsying and heading towards the kitchen.

The hobbits stared after her, and with a silent agreement they determined that she was not dangerous, and could be trusted enough to allow them to start unpacking a bit. The rest of their trust would be based upon the story she told.

  
  
  
  
  
  


III. The Inquiry

  
  
  
  


The hobbits gathered around the table in the warm kitchen where Poppy was taking the tea kettle from the fire. Sam had heard a short rehash from Frodo about their interesting first encounter, and was eyeing her suspiciously as she poured the tea into the little porcelain cups. Merry and Pippin seemed content to merely admire her as she busied herself with the meal. Merry, specifically, found her particularly attractive in her domestic manner, and watched her slender form in the firelight as she busied herself with setting the tarts and cakes on the table. Her hair was a long, glowing mass of loose red curls held back from her face by a pale yellow ribbon that matched her cotton dress. She moved surely around the kitchen and finished her work, then unfastened her apron and beckoned them to sit with her.

She sighed as she sat down, then she cleared her throat before she said, "I think I should first tell you why I came here . . . and then how:

  
  


"It was the New Year last year when Freddy Bolger, who had been tending this property, came to Bree. He came to petition several of the fellows there to take a stand against the ruffians who had invaded the Shire. . . I'm sure you've heard, we've had a great deal of trouble. 

"Well, he gathered about fifty, and they fought a quite a battle, until Bill Ferny, who had joined the posse just to try to make a few friends, turned-coat and joined the enemy with a few other cowards. As I heard it, the fight just went downhill from there, and some of the boys were killed. One of them was very dear to me, and he and Freddy had been old friends for several years, so when he died, Freddy understood when I told him that I just had to get away. Away from Bree, and the fighting, and away from always being afraid. Freddy told me that he still wanted to fight, for it is a very worthy cause, so before he led the next battle on the hills of Scary, he asked me to take care of Crickhollow for him as a steward. He said it was a favor he was doing for a respectable friend, so I said I'd do it. I traveled with him to the Baranduin Ferry before we parted ways. And I've been here ever since he was captured-- by those, those horrible brutes, and I haven't heard from him for a long while."

Poppy's eyes misted, and she dabbed them with a napkin before she said, "Poor Freddy! He was so brave."

At this, Frodo said gently, "You needn't worry about Freddy, miss. The battle's over now, and he's been free for many months. He's recovering in Hobbiton." Frodo chuckled a bit, and added, "You wouldn't recognize him now. Thin as a sapling! He's half the hobbit he was."

At this, the hobbit-lads laughed and Sam tightened his belt. "I think I'm nearly half the hobbit I was, too!" he said.

Pippin's laugh faltered a bit, and his grin diminished. He stirred his tea thoughtfully and said, "You said you're a Took. So am I: a descendant of the Old Took; but, I've never seen you in Tuckborough."

Poppy said, "There's a story to answer that, too. I'm also a descendant of the Old Took. I'm from Hildifons' line."

"Hildifons? Old Took's boy? Now I know you're lying! He disappeared! He went off on an adventure and never came back. He died!" Pippin stated firmly. He was riled to a sudden suspicion.

"True," said Poppy softly, "but that was many years after his adventure. I happen to know the story, too. If you're not too tired. And then, I'd like to hear yours. Freddy said that you left on an adventure, Master Baggins. He said that a wizard told you to go."

"Yes, a wizard did tell me, but that story would take a whole day to tell you the gist, a week to tell accurately, and a whole year to tell fully," said Frodo.

"Too true!" beamed Sam. "That story runs from here to Gondor and even farther!"

"Gondor! It sounds incredible!"said Poppy. "I would love to hear it as soon as you feel up to it." 

"Hmm," mused Frodo. "I don't even think I could tell it right without going over my notes."

"And finishing that book!" said Sam, giving Frodo a poke. "You promised Mr. Bilbo that you would."

"And I will, just not yet. I'd like to also write down some of Gandalf and Strider's adventures before I even start on the account of the War."

Poppy's eyes were now wide from hearing words like 'war', 'adventures,' and 'Bilbo.' Bilbo Baggins, she had heard, had left on a marvelous journey many years ago. She was listening intently to Frodo and Sam's conversation before she felt Merry and Pippin turn their eyes to her.

"Tell us your story; we'd really like to hear it," said Merry. "Please?"

"Pretty please," corrected Pippin.

"'Pretty please' what?" said Sam, who hadn't been paying attention.

"I think they're asking her to tell Hildifons' story," said Frodo.

"Oh, well then, good! I'd like to hear this story," Sam quieted after he said this, and he reached for a honey cake to munch as Poppy sipped her tea and began to recall the tale she had heard as a girl.

  
  
  
  
  
  


IV. Hildifon's Adventure

  
  
  
  


"This is the story that my grandfather, Papa Brattle, told me a long time ago:

'Long ago, when Hildifons Took was rather young, he often went into the forest in the southern Woody End to look for mushrooms, his favorite food.'"

"Mushroom is my favorite, too!" interjected Pippin. 

"Of course it is!" she said. "You're a hobbit and a Took, as was Hildifons. Eh--Now then:

'Hildifons was on one of these visits to the woods when he found some mushrooms. But these weren't ordinary mushrooms. They were part of a fairy-ring...That's a ring of mushrooms that spring up when fairies dance under the moonlight, according to the old poem:

The soft stars are shining, 

The moon is alight,

The folk of the forest

Are dancing tonight:

O swift and gay 

Is the song that they sing;

They float and sway

As they dance in a ring...*

'Fairy-rings are gateways between our world and the world of the little folk, the "Fay," as they call themselves. And when a hobbit or any other creature puts one foot inside the ring, they can see the fairies that have passed into our world, but when they put both feet in the circle, they put themselves in danger of being taken to the world of the Little People. Hildifons knew nothing of fairy-rings, and was thinking only of mushrooms as he gathered them and sang his mushroom song:

My belly is empty, there's plenty of room

For a tasty bite of a scrumptious mush-

'Then suddenly, a mighty whirlwind of fairy power took him to a strange new world. Round and round it whirled him, and he thought that it would never stop, but finally Hildifons settled to the ground in Fairyland. He saw no one, but at once felt the sticky heat that enveloped this part of the fay world. It was full of lush, exotic plants; it was a jungle of fan-shaped leaves and marshy ground.'"

"Did he see an Oiliphant? Oiliphants come from the jungle, you know," said Sam.

"He might have,"said Poppy patiently. "I don't know...But back to the story before I forget: 

  
  


'Poor Hildifons was lost, and still very hungry, so he (following good hobbit-sense) decided that he would first get something to eat, and then figure out where he was. He looked to the marvelous trees there, and found among their branches some little brown nuts that looked very tasty. He was just about to pluck one, when he suddenly heard a horrible voice saying, "I thought I heard a little voice singing in my woods! I'll mash you up and roast you!"

Hildifons was startled, and he turned around quickly to see what was threatening him in such an awful way. Hildifons still saw no one, and was now very frightened. He looked and looked and looked around, until he spotted a huge shape looming in the path. The creature that he saw was a great Oni, a slant-eyed, strong, muscled fairy-beast that carried a heavy smithing hammer in the leather belt that wound around his big belly. Hildifons hid, for he did not want the Oni to see him. 

'The Oni had managed to corner a tiny wood gnome that was portaging a little leaf boat over his head. The gnome was wearing an acorn cap and bright yellow pants made from stitched daffodil petals. The petal-pants shook as the gnome pleaded with the Oni in his little voice, "O please, Great One. Do not eat me! I must hie to my sick father, or he shall die!"

'The Oni laughed a terrible laugh deep in his belly that shook the ground and silenced the squawking jungle birds. "How can I deny a last request?" boomed the Oni. "I shall not eat you, but beware of the water beast when you sail over the pond!" The Oni then turned and thudded back down the path, never noticing Hildifons. The little gnome picked up his boat and scurried to the edge of the pond. 

'"O, dear! O my! How shall I ever get across without waking the beast?" lamented the gnome. He stood still until he came to an idea: "I shall sing a lullaby as I go across the river. If I wake the beast, it will go back to sleep when it hears my song!" The gnome then sang one of the strange, beautiful songs of his people, whose language has long been forgotten by mortal tongues.

'Hildifons watched all of these happenings, and in his heart, he wished the frightened little gnome well on his journey. He listened to the gnome's song, and felt a little sleepy, and he began to yawn. Suddenly, heavy footsteps again came up the path, and the Oni reappeared, his ugly face twisted with rage.

'"No!"roared the Oni, "You shall not SING! Only I may SING!" Then, in his anger, the Oni summoned the water beast with his deep, growling voice:

Nya-Nya Bulembu! Nya-Nya Bulembu,

Come out of the water and eat!

The Oni master summons you!

Laugh and show me your teeth!

'Then the horrible monster rose out of the pond. It was as big as a bull, and covered with pond scum. It had horrible claws on its webbed feet, and Ah! Such deadly teeth! The teeth in the front of his mouth were razor-sharp and as long as a hobbit's arm. White they were, and gleaming menacingly. The Nya-Nya Bulembu glided its way over to the gnome with strokes of its powerful tail. The gnome squealed and tried to paddle away, but it was obvious that it could not escape the horrible beast.

Hildifons was now stirred with a sudden glorious thought that might save the gnome: "Why is it that only the Oni may sing? Is there power in song over this beast?"

So Hildifons leapt from his hiding place in the trees and sang in his clear, pleasant voice:

Nya-Nya Bulembu! Nya-Nya Bulembu,

Go back to the water and sleep!

Please go away, I beg of you!

Do not do evil with your teeth!

Because Hildifon's voice was more beautiful and pleasing to the Nya-Nya Bulembu than the Oni's awful growling, the creature obeyed Hildifons and sank back into the water. The Oni turned to Hildifons and bellowed with rage, and he raised his mighty smithing hammer over his head to strike the hobbit. Hildifons quickly ducked from the blow and darted under the strong roots of the proud fan-leafed tree. The Oni smashed at the trunk and roots of the great tree with all of his might, but he soon became exhausted, for the Oni is a fat and heavy thing.

Hildifons sensed that his opponent was waning, and he struck at the Oni's great foot with his little dagger. The Oni howled with pain, and hopped up and down on his good foot, dropping his heavy hammer. Hildifons struck again at the Oni's ankle and his blade bit deep. The Oni sank to the ground with a groan and said, "Enough! Enough! I humbly surrender!" The Oni pulled himself upright and limped away. 

Hildifons came out of hiding to see if the gnome was all right and capable of the journey across the pond. But when he looked out over the water for the boat, he saw-- instead of a little gnome-- a beautiful fairy maiden sitting on a rock. Fair she was, and dressed in white with flowers in her hair and vines in her girdle. She was Leelinau, a nymph of the woods and a princess of her people. She called to him in her sweet voice, "Bravest of Little People! Blessed art thou for thy courage! See, the Oni has left you his magic hammer, and the might of its blow shall grant thee any desire of thine heart."

Hildifons was entranced with her beauty, and her smile and voice warmed his soul. He picked up the hammer, and looked to the fairy, as if asking for permission. Then he obediently raised the hammer high, and he wished a wish with all of his might before he brought the hammer to the earth with a heavy blow of triumph. 

He soon got his wish: to wed the beautiful nymph and return to his people. He married her in Fairyland, and then they came to this world.'

"And so," she finished, "they lived happily in the wilds of the Shire, and had many strong and clever children. One of whom was my grandfather, who told this story to me."

  
  


* * * 

  
  
  
  


NOTES:

*Poem by Katherine Davis (1892-1980) called "The Fairy Dance".

*The Oni is a character from a Japanese fairytale called "Little One Inch," and the Nya-Nya Bulembu is from an African tale called "The Moss-Green Princess." Both tales have been told orally for many generations, and their original authors have been lost to time and retelling.


	2. Part 2: Rose: Chapters 5 to 8

V. Homeward Bound

  
  


The hobbits of the Fellowship were entertained by Poppy's stories for the length of their meal. Her seeming innocence, coupled with the sate, full feeling that they had after eating, put their spirits at ease. The earlier incident with Frodo seemed to have been forgotten, and the distrust was put aside. After telling Poppy their plans for the transportation of Crickhollow's furnishings to Bag End, the plates and cups were cleared and cleaned. Frodo invited Poppy to come with them on the trip, for her friend, Freddy Bolger, was in Hobbiton where he was recuperating in the Cotton's smial. She agreed to this suggestion, and she offered to help with the moving. Before she went to bed, she boiled some water with which to fill the large bath tubs in the far room for Frodo and his friends. She bid them good-night and turned in, but she did not find sleep until the sounds of splashing, wallowing, and Pippin's jolly bath-songs ceased. 

At five o'clock in the morning, Poppy awoke to find that the house was already stirring with activity. Sam was cooking a large breakfast (luckily, Poppy had kept the pantry well-stocked and the garden of herbs well-tended) and humming softly; Frodo and Pippin were packing breakable items in paper and cloth and storing them in wooden chests; and Merry was outside guiding Bill the Pony (who looked rather sleepy), and the wagon to which Bill was attached, up to the front door. She heard Bill's obstinate whinny, and sympathized with him. She rolled out of bed and washed her face, then twisted her hair into a copper bun and pinned it into place. She dressed quickly, and packed a traveling sack among her things. She went to the kitchen and met Sam as he was cooking. She helped him with breakfast, and as they worked they sang some of the cooking songs that all hobbits know.

After a filling breakfast of sausage, pancakes, and eggs, the hobbits began the process of moving by piling the furniture onto the wagon: they took Bilbo's old writing desk with the brass inkwell, the round oak dining table, Frodo's armoire, the beds- -starting with the headboards, then the supports- - followed by trunks and chairs. Soon, little was left in the house that was needed, and Frodo carried out the last of his things: two wooden swords, which he and Bilbo had fenced with when he was a boy. During his childhood, they were also used in some of his imaginary adventures with Sam. He had fond memories of the two of them as children, pretending to be Bilbo and Thorin on their incredible journeys. He placed the swords tenderly inside his clothing chest on the wagon, then helped Merry to tether Strider next to Bill. He hopped onto the driver's seat, then helped to pull Merry and Poppy onto the seat next to him. Sam and Pippin climbed over the furniture stacked on the wagon until they reached Bilbo's favorite reading chair, then they squished themselves together in its cushioned seat. When all was in place, Frodo urged the horses down the drive and steered it towards the High Hay Path since they had decided not to wait for the ferry.

On the road, Frodo told Poppy the tale of Bilbo's famous adventure. They talked long about the part of the story which concerned trolls, and she seemed to already possess some knowledge of the horrible ogres. She guessed, before Frodo even told her, that the trolls' demise would come at sunrise by turning to stone. Frodo described to her the trolls' remains that were still in the Shaws, and how they were now moldering statues of their formerly fearsome selves. Then, curious, he asked her where she had learned of trolls. 

She sighed whistfully, pulling her straw hat over her fiery hair and securing the blue ribbon under her chin before saying, "When I was little, and visited my grandparents in the North Downs by Lake Evendim, we were sometimes visited by elves who passed in that land. They knew of Hildifons and his family. They taught me songs, which I have mostly forgotten, and told stories of lands that have long ago died away. They found my brother and I once, wandering the Downs, and told us horrible stories about trolls and goblins to try to keep us home where we were safe." She fell quiet then, and Frodo studied herdelicate features, and her misty green eyes, which at the moment seemed to be looking far off into the distant past.

"Have you seen the elves since you were little?" asked Frodo.

"No, not since I was very small, but I still remember one song that they sang," she said, and began to hum to test her memory; and then she sang small, beautiful catches of a song in the fair elf language. Frodo listened, and then he also began to hum along, for the song was vaguely familiar, and then he began to sing along- -Not in elvish, but in the Common Speech, for that was how he first heard the song from Bilbo:

  
  


". . . Githonel! We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees,

Thy starlight in the Western Seas. . ."

  
  


Poppy stopped singing, amazed by what she heard, and she listened to Frodo until his voice trailed off. "Do you know how to speak the Elven tongue?" she asked.

"Sure. Well, some; but by no means conversationally," confessed Frodo.

"Well, you know some songs. I know that much now. Say something to me in Elvish.... Please?" Poppy pouted rather playfully as she stretched the word 'please.'

"I don't know. . ." Frodo said, and he sighed as he considered his the extent of his rather small range of vocabulary. He couldn't think of anything that was really appropriate to say. He would rather not try to remember the elf-rhymes of his youth; his brain felt muddled, and thinking was difficult in the hot afternoon sun. But then again, Poppy wasn't a hobbit that one could easily say 'no' to. Finally, Frodo gave in. "Oh, why not?" he murmured, and he thought for a moment, then turned to her and said with a smile, "Le aen bain, A brennil o menel. Pedin len na 'lass!" 

Poppy blushed, delighted by Frodo's smile and his adeptness at the language, and she gave a musical laugh. "Marvelous! I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded beautiful. Who taught you how to speak so well?"

"Bilbo did. He has many elf friends...In fact, he actually lives in Rivendell among them now."

"Rivendell! Oh, the Great Elf City!" Poppy clapped her hands together excitedly. "How lucky for Bilbo! The things the elves make are so complex and intricate. Can you imagine what their homes must be like?"

"We needn't imagine, Miss Poppy," said Merry, suddenly eager to impress. "Frodo, Pippin, Sam, and I have been there on our travels. We've also been to Lothlórien and Fangorn--Ah, Fangorn! What a place! You see these trees here?" He pointed to the large, mature trees of the Old Forest growing near the High Hay path. "They're saplings compared to Fangorn's forest! And a marvelous people they are, too, those Ents. Remarkable!"

Merry then told her of the Entwoods, Treebeard, and of the draught that he and Pippin drank that caused them to grow nearly six inches taller. Pippin woke from his sleep next to Sam in Bilbo's chair, and added a few bits to the story, but he was soon lulled to sleep again by the rocking of the wagon and the even beat of the ponies' hooves. The day was fading quickly as the hobbits chattered away. They stopped at sunset to rest for dinner, then rode on until they reached Bag End after midnight.

  
  
  
  


VI. Faysal of the Farlands

  
  


The hobbits unpacked until noon the next day, and then they went to visit Farmer Cotton and have lunch at his home. Freddy was recovering nicely at the Cotton Farm, and when Poppy went to see him, he had a glow of health around him. His joviality had been restored, and he hopped up from his place at the table and kissed her cheek when she entered, then welcomed Frodo and his friends. Sam stood in the doorway of the diningroom, fiddling with a button on his shirt awkwardly, and looking around until he found the object of his search. Rosie Cotton came out of the kitchen with a carved, roasted chicken on a big platter, stuffed with mushrooms. She saw Sam and quickly handed the roasted bird to Freddy, then ran to hug Sam. Sam blushed shyly and murmured, "Hullo, Rosie,"as Rosie embraced him. 

Farmer Cotton chuckled at the young couple's tender actions and nudged Frodo. He said, "What'd I tell ya? Hmm?" Frodo smiled and nodded.

Freddy was putting the chicken on the table when he suddenly remembered something. "Miss Poppy!" he said, dropping the bird down on the table top, "I just remembered! Faysal's here!"

Poppy started, and grinned widely, "Here?! Now? Where is he?"

"He's on Bywater, last I saw him, talking to the locals there about the battle. He's looking for you, and I told him you were still at Crickhollow. I hope he's not left to go there."

"Oh, I've got to see him! But wait! Lunch! Right, lunch. Where are my manners?" she reminded herself. "I'm a guest of the Cottons first, then I can go see him. Faysal won't leave Hobbiton until he's visited the Green Dragon."

She tried to hide her impatience through lunch, and found that it was easy to do, for talking to Rosie Cotton was an engaging exercise and she soon put all thoughts of Faysal aside. She was pleasantly surprised by Rosie's warmth and amiable nature, and when the group started to break up after dessert, she was a bit sad to have their conversation end. After dessert was cleared away, Rosie and Sam started to talk quietly on their side of the table, the quiet interrupted only by Rosie's sporadic giggles and Sam's deep chuckle. Merry and Pippin were talking with Farmer Cotton and reliving the Battle of Bywater through each other's shared experiences. Frodo was talking to Freddy about the night after he left Crickhollow to set out on his quest, and every so often they asked Poppy if she had seen "Anything, anything strange at all?". 

Finally, it seemed that Frodo and Freddy's anxiety over that night's odd happenings was assuaged, and their conversation became less serious. Poppy popped into their conversation, and she asked Frodo and Freddy if it would be all right if she went to go see Faysal.

"Who's Faysal? Where's he from?" asked Frodo.

"He's a wanderer, and he has all kinds of adventures, Master Baggins," answered Poppy.

"I daresay he's traveled enough to swap some interesting stories with you," said Freddy. He sat back in his chair thoughtfully. "Strange hobbits you and Faysal are! I'll never understand your so-called 'need' to travel out of the Shire."

"Oh, you should meet him!"said Poppy. She suddenly hopped up excitedly and grabbed her hat from the wall, and she was about to grab her cloak when she stopped. "Are you coming?" she asked.

Frodo laughed, then said, "All right, but let's say good-bye to Mr. Cotton."

And so, they all said good-bye to Farmer Cotton and thanked him for lunch . Well, all except for Sam, who remained behind with Rosie (and Freddy, who said he needed a nap). Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and Poppy all headed towards the Bywater Road to look for the hobbit called Faysal. In the yellow afternoon, the walk was pleasant, and Poppy often spotted and admired exceptionally well-cared-for gardens in front of the houses near Bywater. She walked quickly and quietly, moving like a wisp of smoke in her white and blue cotton dress and grey cloak. The other hobbits had a heard time keeping up with her, though she seemed not to hurry. She turned onto Bywater Road, and the hobbits followed her. In the distance, they saw Faysal, a handsome hobbit with sharp features dressed like a traveller in green and brown. He was talking to Robin Smallburrow, a shiriff in the Shire, and his golden hair shone in the sun. He wore an old, but well-cared-for sword. When Poppy saw Faysal, she squealed with delight, then tore down the road to him. He turned from Robin and smiled as he caught her in his strong arms. Tears came to her eyes and flowed freely. She had not seen him in over a year, and for a while she had thought him dead, for he lead a dangerous life. She clung to him, and they spoke quietly together for a few moments before Frodo and his friends caught up to them. 

Poppy released Faysal and dabbed at her dark lashes, still wet with happy tears, before introducing Frodo to Faysal. "Faysal, my wanderer of the Farlands, this--is Frodo Baggins, nephew of the adventurer Bilbo Baggins."

Faysal gave a warm smile and extended his tan hand. "Frodo! I've heard of your and your friends' great deeds from the elves. Suilad, mellon." (Greetings, friend.)

"Mae govannen. An Elf-friend is always good to see," (Well-met.) returned Frodo, and he took his proffered hand and shook it. "I've heard you've had a few adventures yourself."

Such an introduction called for story swapping, and all hobbits love to tell stories. So Frodo and his friends walked with Faysal and Poppy, and they settled on the grass under a great oak tree. Their afternoon was filled with tales of battles, wounds, orcs, and strange lands. Merry and Pippin recounted the Battle of Isengard to the marvel of their guests. Faysal then talked somberly of the battle against the ruffians in Bree on the New Year of the year before. As he told his tale, he took the pale hand of Poppy, who was leaning against him, and squeezed it gently.

A bit of jealousy rose in the hearts of the hobbits of the Fellowship for an instant. But as they watched her, they saw a shadow fall onto her fair face that worried them. The shadow remained until Faysal finished his tale. Perhaps it was some trick of the eye, but it appeared that her eyes held tears. Frodo somberly said that he had heard some of this tale from Barliman Butterbur, and he was sad to hear that such good hobbits had been lost in battle. 

The sun began to sink, stomachs began to rumble, and the hobbits rose from the grass and stretched their limbs. Frodo invited Faysal to join them for dinner at Bag End. Faysal bowed respectfully, but declined. He said, "Thank you, but I cannot. All of this talk of Butterbur and Bree--it reminds me that I need to get back there, and the sooner I am off, the better. It has been an honor to meet all of you brave hobbits!" 

He bowed again and gathered his weathered pack. Poppy stopped him with a hand on his arm, and a glance that was worth many words passed between them. She kissed his hand, then stepped back from him. "Good-bye Poppy." He said softly. Then he turned to them and said, "Farewell, Master Meriadoc, Master Peregrin, and Master Frodo, noblest of hobbits!" He shook their hands, and when he made contact with Frodo's palm, he said, "Navaer, nîn mellon!" (Farewell, my friend!)

"Navaer! Cuio mae, mellon!" (Farewell! Live well, friend!) said Frodo, and shook his hand. As Faysal turned and headed to the East, the hobbits waved good-bye, and Poppy's eyes held tears that would not shed.

  
  
  
  
  
  


VII. A Long-Expected Guest

  
  
  
  


The hobbits then turned towards Bag End, and there Poppy and Sam prepared the evening meal. Frodo, Merry, and Pippin tended the fires and set the table. As Pippin set the silverware round the table, he murmured to Frodo, "An interesting fellow, that Mr. Faysal is. It seems Miss Poppy's taken a shine to him." Frodo didn't respond, but knotted his brows a bit as he placed the sugars and salts on the table. 

A hearty meal was served soon, and Frodo called for wine: a red, South Farthing vintage, well-aged, to be opened in celebration of the restoration of Bag End. The bottle was brought from Bilbo's prized wine cask and was poured freely. The hobbits raised their glasses in a toast and said: "To Bag End!" ('And Mr. Frodo!' Sam added.) They had just brought the glasses to their lips to complete the toast when they heard a soft knock on the door. Frodo frowned, drained his glass, and hopped up from his seat. The knock repeated more loudly as Frodo ran to the door to open it.

"GANDALF!" shouted Frodo. He embraced his wise old friend and said, "Come in! Come in!" He took Gandalf's cane and new pointed hat (which looked remarkably like his old one). Frodo laughed good-naturedly as Gandalf, in a grey traveling cloak over his white garments, bent over gingerly to keep from hitting the low ceiling beams. 

"Come, sit in Bilbo's guest chair! It is sized for you," suggested Frodo. Gandalf followed him and reclined in the cushioned chair by the fire. The other hobbits in the house, upon hearing Frodo's exultant cry, came at once into the sitting room.

The room echoed with cries of "Hullo, Gandalf! Good to see you!" and "Gandalf! Hurray!" (The latter was Pippin's greeting, for he was the one among them that regarded the wizard with the most child-like wonder and awe.)

Frodo busied himself by going to the kitchen to fetch some refreshments for his guest, and Pippin introduced Poppy to Gandalf. Poppy was struck with a strong sense of familiarity. 

"Gandalf. . . the Grey? Are you also Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim?" she asked. 

"Indeed, I am known by that name and many others," he said. "I am a traveler by occupation, and I have been to many lands."

Frodo came back from the kitchen and brought Gandalf food and drink, for he could see that the wizard had been traveling for quite some time and was tired. Gandalf took the food and the wine gratefully, and after tasting the vintage, swirled the red liquid in his glass with approval. "1378. A very good year," he commented. "Your birth year.* You should have saved this for your birthday, Frodo."

"Hmm," said Frodo. "I didn't consider that, but I do hope that like this wine, I will get better with age."

Gandalf laughed. "Yes, like a good wine," he said. "The crop this year will be the best one ever, thanks to the efforts of all of you brave hobbits;-- well, that's according to the Gondor reports. Which reminds me of why I have come. There is a letter that came to me by means of an elf-messenger. It was written by our friend, Aragorn." He patted his garments until he found the letter in the breast of his white tunic. He revealed it with a flourish and extended it to Frodo. "Here you are, my boy."

Frodo broke the red wax signet seal of the envelope and took out the fine linen parchment. He read aloud that which was written in Aragorn's strong, rough script: 

  
  


"' To Frodo, son of Drogo, Heir to Bilbo; To Samwise, son of Hamfast, beloved companion to Frodo; To Meriadoc, son of Seradoc, piercer of the Witch King; 

and to Peregrin, Son of Paladin, knighted to me: Greetings from your King!

"'It is my deepest hope that all is now well with you; for last I gazed into the Palantir, I saw a great evil in your peaceful Shire. That feeling of shadow has long left me, and I believe you are victorious. Am I right? All is well in Gondor, for the land is healing. The White Tree is blooming, and a time of great celebration draws near. It would much please me to gather the Fellowship once more before the Sea calls to the Elves and Legolas and his people are beyond my reach. The celebration of which I aforementioned is a Wedding. Yes, it is true, though a loner and a bachelor I have been for many long years, the one desire of my heart is now coming to me: I am to wed Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond, the Evenstar of her people, on Midsummer's Eve. It is my wish that you would do me this last favour, Frodo, and bear for me one last Ring on my wedding day. I would like for the four of you to bring other friends from your land, for my people have developed a love and curiosity for hobbits, and they sorely miss the company of little folk (And so do I)! Come soon to Minas Tirith!

-Le Suilannon o Minas Tirith-

'"STRIDER, King of Gondor'"

  
  


Frodo passed the letter to Pippin, who saw that Aragorn had added his alias "Strider" to the letter, and laughed.

"A wedding! To Arwen! Oh, but she's a beauty!" said Merry, and he raised a silent toast to the health of the elf-maiden.

  
  
  
  


* * *

NOTE:

* Changed from the book by me. (Author's liberty)

  
  
  
  
  
  


VIII. A Jolly Good Hobbit!

  
  


"We'll have to leave soon, won't we?" Sam mused with a thoughtful, pinched look on his face.

"Oh, no, not really,"said Frodo. "We have about three weeks before we've got to go."

"I was about to say, Rosie'd be upset if I up and left for Strider's wedding afore we had ou--" Sam stopped and turned very red.

Frodo turned to him in surprise, and he asked slowly, "Sam...Did you just say what I think you just said?"

Sam's eyes glistened. He nodded and grinned. "Rosie said to me, 'It's been nearly a year. Let's not put it off any longer.' And who am I to argue with her? Especially when she smiles so pretty and says to me, 'Sam, let's get married!'"

As though rallied with a battle cry, Pippin and Merry sprang to their feet and picked Sam up off the ground and hoisted him to their shoulders. "Hurrah for Sam! For his lady, too!" said Pippin.

"For he's a jolly good hobbit,

For he's a jolly good hobbit...." sang Merry, and the rest soon joined him.

They were half-way through the song when Sam suddenly shouted, "Wait! I haven't had Mr. Frodo's blessing yet!"

"Sam," said Frodo, "you have my blessing, and anything else that I can give to you!"

"A most perfect match! I foresee many children," said Gandalf, giving Sam a teasing wink. "Congratulations, my dear hobbit!"

Pippin and Merry tossed Sam playfully off of their shoulders and onto the couch. Then they poured more wine for celebration, and Pippin ran off to the cellar with his glass to get another bottle before they ran out.

"Oh! Won't Miss Rosie be a pretty bride!" exclaimed Poppy. "She's very lucky, Sam. I haven't known either of you very long, but I like you both very much."

"I'm glad you do," said Sam, blushing a bit. "I like you, too. Especially your stories." He gave a little bow, then refilled Poppy's glass with the last of the Southfarthing Vintage.

"Hmm. We're going to need a little help making the arrangements for a wedding,"said Frodo. "The party is the easy part, but...Poppy, do you know what flowers are usually at a wedding? You know, the good luck bouquets? And Gandalf, how do you order the events of the ceremony? I'm afraid to say I haven't been to a wedding in a while, and I've quite forgotten."

"The ceremony can be as traditional or personal as you wish," said Gandalf. "As long as you get married, it's a wedding."

"And the flowers are usually the choice of the bride," said Poppy. "But I'm guessing Rosie would like....roses."

"She'd be an angel with white roses in her hair..."Sam breathed.

"Hmm. Chocolate cake would be even more heavenly," said Merry.

"And fireworks! Don't forget fireworks!"said Pippin, as he came back into the room carrying a dusty bottle of a slightly younger vintage.

"Peregrin Took! Fireworks or no, you will not be in the vicinity of anything flammable while I am here!" exclaimed Gandalf. 

The argument about fireworks lasted through an hour, but the hobbits eventually won out. After two hours of cursory wedding plans, the hobbits went to bed when Gandalf nodded off in Bilbo's big chair. 

* * * 

Hobbiton bustled with activity for two solid weeks as invitations spread. Such excitement! The news was everywhere, for the couple was well-known, and also well-liked: Samwise Gamgee, veteran of the Battle of Bywater, was to wed the golden-haired daughter of the prosperous Farmer Cotton. With all of the well-wishers and the assistants, Bag End and the Cotton's smial were the busiest in the Shire. Sam's wedding would have to be soon -very soon---before the hobbits set out to Gondor, and the preparations were nothing short of extravagant. Merry and Pippin had been given the job of finding a honeymoon cottage for Sam and his bride, and then furnishing and decorating it with Frodo's generous funds. Flour for cakes and pastries kept the mill running nearly nonstop. Most of the hobbit-lasses within a five-mile radius had been recruited to help with baking and sewing dresses for the bridesmaids. 

The task of sewing Rosie's gown had fallen into the capable, aged hands of Mrs. Cotton, and occasionally to Poppy, who had a knack for delicate embroidery. The two females met often in one of Bag End's numerous guest rooms with Rosie in tow for a proper fitting. It was during one of these such meetings, two days before the wedding, that Rosie seemed a bit less than herself as she studied her reflection in the polished mirror.

"What's the matter, Rosie? Is it the neckline again? I could lower it a bit more if you'd prefer to be less modest,"offered Poppy, though the neckline was plenty low.

"No, It's fine. Beautiful. I wouldn't touch it...." Rosie absently brushed her hair out of her chocolate eyes. "I'm just thinking about, well...I'm worried that..."

"No cold feet now, dearie!" said Mrs. Cotton.

"I'm just worried about how Sam will adjust. I don't think he'll like being away from Frodo. He worries about Frodo, you know."

"Oh, is that all?" said Poppy, bending and checking the hemline of the gown where it brushed lightly against the top of Rosie's toes. "Why don't you two just move in with Frodo for a while as newlyweds? That smial's big enough for twelve hobbits, I daresay, and Frodo has already offered."

"Sam hasn't told me a word about it, but," she considered a bit, then said, "I suppose it would be all right... That is, if Sam still loves me then."

"'Still loves you then?' He's foolish for you! Otherwise, why would he be marry you?" insisted Poppy.

"He could be just that-- Foolish." Rosie bit her lip and turned from the mirror.

"This is silliness, child! Sam's a leaf-wise gentlehobbit who loves you very much!" said Mrs. Cotton with conviction. "He looks at you the way your father looked at me..."

"'Look-ed?' Past tense?" said Poppy, dubiously. 

"I was a bit easier on the eyes back then, dearie," said Mrs. Cotton, with a wink. "Just like fair Rose there. Pink-cheeked and round-curved.... Though I don't recall being as buxom."

Rosie blushed red at her mother's statement. "Ma!"

"What's wrong with being busty? Sam doesn't mind!" Mrs. Cotton said.

Poppy couldn't help but laugh.

  
  



	3. Part 3: Frodo: Chapters 9 to 12

VIV. A Crown of Roses

  
  


The month of April drew to a close just as the wedding day came. The party field was set up with tents and tables, ready to be stuffed with hobbits and food. The mallorn tree that Sam planted was blooming gold flowers, and had become the marvel of Hobbiton. Frodo and Pippin had set up the altar under the young tree, and Gandalf smiled broadly as he stood behind it, wearing his white robes. He looked both wise and proud. The guests were filing into the long bench seats set up on opposite sides of the altar: the right being that of Sam's relatives and friends, and the left side being that of Rosie's family and friends. It was evenly balanced. About fifty hobbits sat on each side. 

The sun rose to a nine o'clock position, and the violets in the grass emitted their soft scent as some of Hobbiton's most talented musicians picked up their lutes, lyres, and flutes and played a gentle tune to quiet the guests. Samwise Gamgee, nervous though he was, walked with a sense of pride down the aisle in his shining white finery. His head was crowned with symbolic flora, as was tradition: he wore fern, symbolic of the Magic of this event, with forsythia, whose early golden blooms preceded its leaves and stood for Anticipation, and the early green leaves of strawberry, that signified his Fame. Sam was then followed by the old gaffer, Hamfast Gamgee, dressed to the nines, who was beaming from old ear to old ear, despite the fact that tears were in his eyes. Then came Frodo, Sam's best man, wearing soft blue and white, his eyes sparkling. Then followed Merry and Pippin, also in blues. Pippin carried the Rosie's ring. They settled nervously next to the white-washed podium from which Gandalf would conduct the ceremony. Sam let out a shaky breath, and Frodo came to his side and said softly, "Nervous now? Doubtful? You won't need to be once you see her."

It was then that all eyes turned to the end of the aisle, where Rosie stood in her flowing dress, her crown of white roses and blue forget-me-nots which stood for True Love, and early honeysuckle, signifying Bliss. Mr. Cotton was on her arm, and proudly beamed at the crowd, though he knew in his heart how hard it would be to give her away. Mrs. Cotton followed behind, her eyes misty and her hands clasped. A line of Rosie's friends then followed: Angelica Took, who wore her most extravagant pink dress (being Frodo's vainest cousin), the clumsily tall Iris Took with soft doe eyes, Estella Bolger, sweetly smiling with apple blossoms in her hair, and then Poppy Took (though she had originally declined being a bridesmaid, considering it a role for only the dearest friends of the bride), looking timid but beautiful in a soft pink dress. Then Nellie Boffin, a shy child whom Rosie treated as a little sister, came behind and scattered white rose petals until they group reached the side of the altar opposite that of Sam and his friends.

Gandalf greeted those gathered, then said, "This is a significant ceremony that concerns all hobbits, for not only does the beauty of this wedding show that the Shire's land is healing, but that the hearts of its people are recovering as well. It makes me glad every time that Love has a victory over Hate, and Good over Evil.-- This is definitely a victory for Love. And through this Love, Goodness will follow, for through these two young lovers there may be many more generations of fine and courageous hobbits! Let us bless this union!"

The crowd clapped and cheered (for hobbit weddings are not formal, and are celebrations rather than ceremonies), and then quieted when Gandalf motioned for Rose and Samwise to join hands. Rosie placed her hand in Sam's with a blush and a smile.

Gandalf turned to Sam and asked him the most important question of his life: 

"Will you have her, Samwise, to be your wedded wife?"

"Yes, I will," said Sam. "And I will love her all my life."

Gandalf smiled and turned to Rosie; he queried her likewise:

"And will you have him, Rose, to be your loving husband?"

"Yes," said Rosie softly, "And I shall love him to the end."

And so, from the reciting of ancient vows, Rosie Cotton became Rosie Gamgee and received the ring that Sam had bought with hope so long ago when she had first stolen his heart, and the union was sealed with a tender kiss. A cheer rose from the crowd.

The feast afterward lasted long into the afternoon, filled with various toasts and speeches given by the members of the Fellowship. All of them gave the best wishes of love, prosperity, and goodwill towards the young couple (and although Pippin's speech was rather humorous and was received with much laughter, it was none the less sincere). At the head of the table, Frodo recounted to Rosie and her parents the story of Sam's incredible brave actions in the Dark Tower, and Rosie's eyes shone with pride and awe as she looked at her husband. Sam blushed under her gaze and insisted that Frodo was exaggerating his heroics in the story.

"Oh no, I'm not!" Frodo objected, then he turned to Rosie and said, " I'm probably underplaying his part, if anything. I can't say anything about that rescue that would even come close to doing it justice. Rose, you've got the best hobbit in the world for a husband-Baggin's Truth-I think you should know that."

"I already do, Frodo," said Rose. She gave Sam a loving look. "And I'll never forget it."

The sun began its slow descent, and it was time for some of the more traditional wedding games to be played: the children danced around the maypole as the bachelor and maiden friends of the bride and groom gathered around for the "Crowning." 

Hamfast Gamgee began to give directions to the old game, "Here's whatcha got to do: Ladies, quit yer giggling and line up un'er yonder apple tree. Fellas, all a' you quit yer jokin' and teasin' and line up across from the ladies. Double-quick now!" 

The hobbits did as they were bade, except for two.

"I don't think I'll play," said Frodo, leaning against the table. "I'm a determined bachelor, like Bilbo. It wouldn't be fair to tie a girl to a strange fellow like me anyways-- traveler as I am. So there's no sense in playing."

"Of course there is!" said Sam, who was currently being blindfolded by Freddy. "You'll get in line because I'm telling you to!" 

Frodo laughed, "Fine. I will, for the sake of the groom . . . But if I have to, then so does Poppy!"

Poppy started from her seat, stammering, "Oh, but I don't think I should...I mean, I couldn't. I'm not the marrying sort. I'm--"

"You're going to get in line, is what you're going to do!" said Mrs. Cotton, nudging her.

"I think what she means is that she's already taken," said Frodo. "Has he proposed yet?"

"Who?" said Poppy, obviously puzzled.

"Faysal, of course," asserted Frodo. "Don't pretend you don't care for him."

"Oh, no! You thought that he was..." Poppy exclaimed, then trailed off in laughter. She recovered herself, then said, "I do care for him, but not like that! He's my brother!"

Frodo realized his gaff, and his normally pale skin flushed red in embarrassment.

"Well then, you're not taken, so get in line!" said Mrs. Cotton giving Poppy another nudge. Then she laughed at Frodo's obvious humiliation from his earlier assumption, then gave him a push. "Go on, now!"

  
  
  
  


X. Playing Games

  
  
  
  


So the last of the hobbits joined the ranks, and the bride and groom, crowned as they were at the ceremony, were blindfolded and spun around, then faced towards line of friends of their own gender. Sam made a slow, trailing pass over the bachelors, passing Frodo twice (much to Frodo's relief) before finally stopping in front of a hobbit lad. He reached out and blindly patted the strangers curly hair to ascertain where his head was, and then took the crown from his own head and placed it on that of the unknown receiver, the next to be married in the Shire. The bachelors roared with laughter at Sam's selection, and then Frodo uncovered Sam's eyes. Sam laughed in disbelief when he saw whom he had crowned. Grinning broadly before him was Peregrin Took, with the green and gold crown on his head.

Rosie decided to tease the girls in her line a bit more than Sam teased the lads. She paced slowly, blindfolded before them, stopping occasionally in front of a hobbit lass, and patting a few heads of the eager bachelorettes and pretending to remove her crown of roses. She would seem to have finally made a selection, but would then suddenly turn and move to another. This teasing could only last so long, however, before Rosie was finally forced to make her choice by the pleading lasses. She took the flowering crown from atop her golden-curled head and placed it on the marigold-red curls of the shocked Poppy Took. The ladies tittered and congratulated her. 

"Who's your sweetheart, dearie?"

"Yes, the lucky fellow! Who is he?"

"I don't know!" she sputtered. "I don't even think I want to be married!"

It was then that the loud singing rose from the male ranks and Pippin, crowned and beaming a smile, was carried on Merry and Freddy's shoulders over to the ladies' group, followed by his noisy peers. "Hullo ladies!" said Pippin. The ladies stopped chattering when they saw that a handsome and strong young bachelor was now crowned, signifying that he was the next in the Shire to be married, and they began to flirt almost simultaneously with Pippin, hoping to be the next bride.

Poppy laughed when she also gained more attention than she had bargained for. 

"Pretty lady! Come grace us with your presence!" said Merry, who took her hand led her into the center of the bachelor group. 

"Sing something for us!"pleaded Freddy. "Please! Your songs are so pretty!"

Poppy considered for a moment, but when she saw the eager faces, she decided to throw her inhibitions to the wind. She began to sing a silly song in her lovely voice:

  
  


"A kitty went to the house

Of a very small mouse

To ask her to be his wife.

She was sweeping the floor

When he came to her door

And played a tune for her on his fife."

  
  


The tune was fast catching, and the hobbit lads began to clap, and Poppy picked up her skirt and danced as she sang with bravado:

  
  


"The mousie near swooned

To the elegant tune

And asked the cat why he came.

'To ask for your paw,

To take in my claw,

So we may be wed, sweet dame!'

  
  


"And the cat sang a song

Of sweet courtship long

And the mousie fell in love,

'Oh how sweetly you sing!

But what of a ring?'

Said the cat, 'Fear not, dearest Love!'"

  
  


The group was now clapping loud enough to attract the attention of Pippin, who was flirting with the ladies across the field, and he came over to see the spectacle. He saw what was going on, and he motioned to Edgar Boffin, who knew how to play the melodin. Edgar picked up his bow and accompanied the well-known tune.

  
  


"Hied he to his barn

And retrieved his ball-yarn,

And tied a link round her wrist.

'O, say yes, Sweet heart!

To the hill we'll depart!'

She said, 'Yes!' and his whiskers she kissed.

  
  


"So they married that eve

Under yonder beech tree,

And neither's family had known.

They danced the whole night

In the sweet silver light

Though the cat and the mouse were alone.

  
  


"They danced the whole night

In the sweet silver light

Though the cat and the mouse were alone!

  
  


"They bought a nice house,

The cat and his mouse,

And their love, it grew and grew.

The cat laughed with joy

When the house filled with toys

For children who cried 'Squeak' and 'Mew!'"

  
  
  
  


The song ended in a wave of applause and Poppy, flushed from her dance, gave a gracious curtsy. 

"Encore! Encore!" said Pippin, but Poppy waved him off.

"Oh! I couldn't! I need a drink!"she said, and fanned herself with her hand. "Thank you for playing, Mr. Boffin. Do keep the party going while I take a break!"

Edgar Boffin nodded and picked up the melodin again and fiddled a merry tune as Poppy went and sat in the shade of a lilac bush. She breathed in its sweet scent and leaned against its shapely trunk as the lavender flowers hovered over her sylphlike face. It is difficult to describe in a word how she looked at this moment: lovely-- no, exquisite perhaps, for soft and delicate was the beauty that she shared with the blossoms. She reclined in this manner for quite some time, catching her breath.

Presently, she heard soft steps and a voice. "Did someone say they needed a drink?" said Frodo, carrying a glass of cool water and extending it to Poppy. 

"Yes, bless you!" said Poppy, and she took it from him and drank gratefully.

"What a show! I daresay you've stolen the heart of every bachelor in the Shire," remarked Frodo.

"That wasn't my intention, but so be it," she said, smiling coyly. She handed the glass back up to Frodo, who placed it in a fork of the sweet-smelling lilac bush with his right hand. 

It was then that she noticed for the first time the injury that he had sustained there, for he often kept that hand in his pocket. Her heart wrenched when she saw how badly his hand had been mauled.

"My dear Master Baggins!" said Poppy, "What happened to your hand?"

Frodo shyly put the hand back in his pocket. "It is a result of my own failure, I'm afraid. The finger's been bitten off, but such was the price I had to pay."

"The price? Of what?"

"Of the Shire, and Middle Earth," he said softly. He sat down next to her, but avoided her questioning eyes and studied the clustered lilacs overhead. "As I've said, It's an awfully long story. But you shall hear it, if you would come with us to Minas Tirith after Sam's honeymoon."

"To Minas Tirith! Oh, but Master Baggins! I could never, ever..." Poppy said, but Frodo cut her off.

"Yes, you could. You told Freddy you that wanted to 'get away,' didn't you?-Well, here's your chance!" he said. He looked to the sky, as though he were examining a map in the clouds. "We plan to go first to Rivendell, in the East, and visit Bilbo and the elves, and then we shall go to Lothlórien, if we can, and finally-- go to Gondor to see the King!" Frodo exclaimed, then his blue gaze turned eastward, to lands very far away. 

His mind swam with thoughts as he considered his own fate; it was like a river of words, images, and experiences, all running into a pool of decision. He murmured his decision to himself, and so light was his voice that no one but himself knew his words: 'Far safer will this journey be than my last, and my last journey I believe it shall be... I don't know if I'll come back. I have been hurt, too deeply to be cured by any of the healing arts in the Shire... But I mustn't tell Sam this. No, he can't even catch wind of it until we're in Gondor...'

"Master Baggins?" Poppy politely called him from his thoughts. 

He turned to her then and said, "I'm sorry. I was drifting again. But will you consider coming with us? We're all quite fond of you, and would very much like for you to come."

"I will consider this, seriously," she said, then stood. "But come! I feel quite refreshed, and the music calls! Dance with me, please, before Freddy decides that he wants me to sing again."

So they descended into the Party Field, and joined the hobbits whirling about on the grass. Sam and Rosie were dancing together: Rosie all blushing, glowing with her joy, and Sam beaming and smiling at her, enthralled with her charms. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


XI. A Long Night

  
  
  
  


The dance lived into the evening until Rosie shyly whispered something to Sam, who turned very red, but nodded enthusiastically nonetheless. He tenderly took her hand, and the two of them then said their good-byes to their guests. Then, with many cheers of goodwill from the crowd, they climbed on the newly-painted wagon, which overflowed with blooming sweet pea flowers. They waved as they disappeared down the hill. It was the beginning of a lifelong journey full of love. This particular part of the journey was soon over when they reached the cottage and Sam wordlessly lifted Rosie from her seat and carried her over the threshold. There was no need for either of them to speak. This night was for the expression of their love with actions instead of words.

After midnight, the party wound down, and many hobbits went home to sleep. Some did not, for many of the married hobbits had felt a renewal of their own love after the dance and the ceremony, and were amorously inclined; these couples nuzzled each other as they went on their way. 

Pippin had flirted with various ladies at this party, and did not really wish to see them go. He gallantly kissed their various hands and led the many ladies to their respective families as they went away. There was, among these maidens, a lass with dark brown curls and chocolate eyes whose hand Pippin very reluctantly released. She was Diamond of Longcleeve, and she was full of jokes and tricks. And Pippin, being a trickster, found her undeniably attractive as she laughed and also caused laughter during the party. Now, as he let go of her hand, he was surprised when she suddenly jumped up and kissed him. He blushed deeply, and she laughed, then winked at him before she turned and left. 

  
  
  
  


Yes, love was in the air as April died away that night. Many of the bachelors in the Shire, including Freddy, Merry, and Jay Cotton, had fallen under the spell of Poppy's charms. She had danced with many of them that evening, and she had amazed them all with her loveliness. Now she was quite tired, and she walked slowly with Merry, Gandalf, and Frodo. Gandalf was yawning and he looked quite old and bent as he walked with his staff.

"Every single party," he said, and rubbed his eyes under his bushy brows. "I tell myself, 'Gandalf, you ought to leave early and go to bed. You're too old to party with the little folk into the wee hours of the morning.'- - pardon the pun. But here it is, nearly two in the morning, and I am still awake. I'm going to pay for this tomorrow." He chuckled a bit as they entered the garden gate at Bag End. "I hope you do not mind, Frodo, but I may be too stiff to move from my bed in the morning. I may be a bit late for breakfast...nay...second breakfast."

Frodo opened the door and said, "I think we all should sleep in a bit tomorrow. No sense in getting up with the chickens when we went to bed with the cats."

"Cats indeed!"said Merry, who really hated cats. "Poor little mice; they just want a bite to eat. Can't the little fellows eat without getting nabbed by those awful scratcher-snatchers?"

Poppy laughed. "I like cats, actually. They're such wise creatures. They go to sleep in the best places. The warm and cozy ones, that is," she yawned, and smothered it softly with her hand. "I wouldn't mind a nice catnap right now."

When they finally entered the house, the first to settle in was Gandalf, who looked rather funny in his bed, even though it was a big bed by hobbit standards. His feet stuck out from the covers, and his gentle snoring echoed in his round chamber and could be heard in the hall.

Poppy filled a copper kettle with boiling water and took a bath before heading to bed. She still felt a bit awkward bathing in the bathroom of a home that was not hers, and so she decided to take the metal tub into her borrowed room to bathe in front of the little fireplace. She filled it and relaxed for a while in the soothing warmth before she reached for her bar of soap and scrubbed. When she was done, she dried her long hair with a towel as she stood in her nightgown in front of the fire.

It was then when she heard a knock at her door, and she pulled on her robe and answered it. There was Frodo, who looked a bit nervous and shy standing outside her room. She greeted him warmly, smiling at his boyish awkwardness.

"Hello, Master Baggins. Do come in! Make yourself comfortable; it is your house after all."

Frodo came in and sat in the little chair by the fire. She realized, with some humor, that he looked a bit too long to sit in a hobbit chair, like a child who had outgrown his rocking horse. She sat opposite him on the wicker settee. "Sorry to bother you," he said. "Late as it is, it seems quite trivial, but, I'd like to know if you've made your decision yet to come with us. We'll need to start packing soon."

"Actually, I have made my decision," she stood up and folded her towel over the wire that stretched across the fireplace, then she grabbed her bristled hairbrush from the little shelf by the bed and tapped it against her nails. "I've met so many of your friends, and they're such good people that I love all of them. I'd like to go with you and meet more." She brushed her hair in long, sweeping strokes. Her locks were still moist, and they shone red and orange, reflecting the flickering fire. "I can't help but wonder, though, who will mind your property while we're off in Gondor."

"Already taken care of. Freddy'll be glad to do it."

"And Sam and Rosie?"

"--Will come with us, as sort of an extended honeymoon trip. It will be interesting for Rosie, no doubt. She's never been more than twenty miles from Cotton Farm, and she's never even seen an elf. She's plenty excited about it, too." Frodo smiled, "And of course, you both will get to hear our story: the whole, unabridged version, and meet all of the heroes. Even Stride-umm---King Aragorn."

"Will I really get to meet him, or just see him?"

"Meet him. And probably Queen Evenstar, too." 

"Me! Meet royalty! I'd never see that coming," she said and set down her brush. She gathered her hair, which had fallen around her face, and swept it behind her shoulder.

"Well, you'll see it soon enough," Frodo said, rising. "For now, you're probably very tired." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Goodnight, m'lady."

"Goodnight, Master Baggins,"she returned his smile, and watched him go. She listened for a while after he closed the door. He seemed well-adjusted to the darkness of the hallway, for he moved soundlessly and lit no lights to guide him from her chamber. She gave no more thought to the observation, however, and with skillful fingers she gathered her hair into a thick braid before disrobing and slipping into bed. She listened to the fire crackle and burn down into glowing embers as she drifted off to sleep.

  
  
  
  


XII. Night Terrors

  
  


The dream in itself began as a confusing jumble of images: clouds, light as in summer, then dark with winter and laden with snow. There were swirling winds of dark colors that carried death's whisper. The snow fell, a confusing jumble of white, blinding, bewildering, stinging the cheeks and eyes, the breaths steaming in the air. It was full picture now, of hobbits in the snow in the moonlight, dark little shapes, armed with a variety of antique weapons, rallying each other with brave speeches that Poppy couldn't hear. In the dream, she was back in her warm house in Staddle, watching the hobbits through the window, praying for their safety. Praying for his safety. She heard shouts, then a rallying cry, and the hobbit-men raced off into the snow to the deep banks near the trees. In the darkness of the forest waited huge men, ruffians, half-orcs, and a variety of malicious beings. They rushed the hobbits, jeering and drawing their weapons. 

She cringed and leaned into the window, her breath fogging the glass. She hurriedly wiped the condensation away and stared, too scared to blink. The battle raged outside, and the shapes rose and fell in the moonlight. The storm picked up with a howling wind, and soon she couldn't see through the snow and the dark. It seemed like hours went by as she sat by the window, listening. She then turned from the window and paced; fear and doubt heavy in her steps. The clock ticked on the wall. Twenty-eight seconds to the New Year. Twenty-seven, twenty-six... She peeked out the window, and still couldn't see. She wanted to go out, to fight with them, with him, but she swore she wouldn't leave the security of the locked house. Twenty seconds. She heard a cry beyond the hill, a wild and desperate sound howling in the wind under the door. Nineteen. She couldn't stand it any longer. He was in danger. But she promised she would stay inside..but promises can be broken. Fifteen. She grabbed her cloak and a long dagger that hung like a sword over the fireplace. Eight. She slung her cloak around her. Five. She gripped the dagger and put it in the sash of her dress. Four. She drew her hood over her head. Three. She unlocked the door. Two. She took out the heavy bolt. One. She left the house, and the clock clanged with an iron sound, loud in the night. Wrong! Wrong! Wrong....! 

There was silence on the field now, no hurrying feet. Then she heard it, the sound of mourning, a low, slow wail. She ran through the snow with the icy air in her lungs and burning her throat. She could see moving figures; many small shapes were returning from the trees. They neared, and she saw that it was the hobbits, and they bore their fallen in their arms. There was Freddy, his face stained with blood, a tigerish smear on his chin. In his big arms was a figure wrapped in a cape-- His red cape, dark maroon in the cold night. She recognized the cape, and her heart wrenched. With a cry, she ran to him. Freddy saw her coming and he wept. "Poppy...Poppy....I'm so sorry..." He knelt to the ground then, the snow was stained red under his knees. Poppy went to him, and took the precious cargo from Freddy's arms. The figure in the bundle was heavy and limp, yet it was lighter than she remembered. She cradled His body, wrapped in the cape, stained a darker crimson with His blood. She was sobbing, sobbing, and looking at the handsome face under the red hood; the once lively face was pale as the snow. Her love had a dagger in his heart, and his life's blood was on his cloak, on Freddy's coat, on her dress, on her arms, and on her hands.

  
  


Poppy woke with a wailing sob, the sound of a heart in anguish. She tore violently from her bed and ran to the window and thrust open the curtains. She looked at her hands in the moonlight. She saw nothing: only her own soft skin and her trembling fingers. She sat on the bed and covered her face with her hands. She heard footsteps in the hall, and she saw the light of a candle under her doorframe.

"Poppy! Is everything all right?" 

"Are you hurt, Miss?"

"No, I am not hurt," she said, then quietly added, "no more than I have been." She wiped her face and went to the door. She opened it, and saw Merry and Frodo in the hall, a candle lit between them. "Just a bad dream. I'm sorry I woke you, Master Brandybuck, Master Baggins."

"Are you sure you're all right? That was quite a sound. Eerie, if I may say so," said Frodo. In truth, he had thought it sounded frighteningly like the wail of a Ringwraith, and he had drawn a weapon upon waking before he realized that the sound came from Poppy's room.

"Can we get something for you? Warm milk perhaps?" offered Merry.

"No, no thank you. I'm fine. I just feel awful that I woke you, it already being a late night and all..." Poppy saw that the faces in the candlelight held much concern. "I suppose that I could read a bit to get back to sleep. Something boring...Maybe some of Bilbo's history translations?"

'Boring indeed!' thought Merry, 'Within those volumes is all of the history behind the Ring!'

"All right, but you'll have to deal with my notes mixed in the pages," said Frodo, who actually liked history.

"That's right; you're writing a book, aren't you?" she said. "May I read what you have so far?"

"It's not very good, or interesting...not yet, anyway...Just history, maps, and the account of Bilbo's last birthday in the Shire," Frodo said with a dismissive tone. 

"Haven't you gotten to the exciting parts yet? Like the time when we went to the Barrowdowns---and when we were attacked by Ringwraiths on Weathertop?" Merry was aghast. "Do you remember how Aragorn defeated those awful snufflers? Fire, and lots of it! What a show! I'll never forget it!"

"You'll never forget it, but I was half conscious. All I could see was Sam, Pippin, and ---The Ringwraiths!" he exclaimed, then shivered. "I'll never forget those dead eyes..." he murmured. Frodo's voice trailed off.

"Frodo!" whispered Merry, "I thought you said you wanted to forget them! You won't forget as long as you keep talking about them."

"Sorry, Merry. But you did bring it up, after all."

"Ringwraiths?" Poppy murmured.

"Oh no," Frodo sighed, "I'm not telling you about Ringwraiths while you're already troubled as it is. But here, let's go to the study. There's loads of books there for you to pick from."

Frodo and Merry led her down the hall treading silently, as hobbits are wont to do, until they came to the little oak door that led into the cluttered study. Frodo had set it up as an office in which to organize all-things-wedding, as well as to serve him as a quiet writer's studio. Sheets of discarded parchment were piled in and around the waste bin. Frodo lit the torch on the wall by the bookshelf and poked around the leathern volumes. 

He selected a rather small one with beautiful gold inlay on the cover. They formed leaves and flowers that wove in and out of the letters of the title. The letters themselves were sweeping curves and delicate pricks of the Elvish Tengwar. "This is a book about dreams, translated by Bilbo. It's very interesting. Elves believe that dreams hold a certain power to them, and they study their meanings closely....It may be of some help to you."

"Hmm..." Poppy flipped through the book carefully. "But it's an old dream. I've had it for a year now, and I know what it means.." She gave a heavy sigh, then continued, "Because it's more than a dream. It's a reality. An event. I lived it, and I can't let it go..." Poppy's voice faltered and her countenance fell. "And maybe I shouldn't."

Frodo's eyes caught hers, and for a moment, he saw a kinship to the pain in them. He had dealt with the many horrors of his own memory for the past year: the tortures in Mordor, the Eye, the stabbing, freezing pain from the Nazgul blade, and many more terrors. "You should let it go," he whispered softly.

Poppy's eyes misted and her gaze dropped from his. An uncomfortable silence stretched for several heartbeats.

Merry cleared his throat. "Maybe a different book would be better." He moved to the shelf and pulled out a book with a carved wooden cover. "I'm pretty sure that this is all poetry and songs. Good stuff..." He extended the book to her.

She accepted it and held it to her chest. "Thank you," she said, her voice still shaking with emotion.

Merry swayed on his feet a bit uncomfortably and put his hands in the warm pockets of his robe. "Well," he said,"I'd best go to bed. I wish you more pleasant dreams than your last one."

"Good night, Master Brandybuck. I'm sorry I woke you," Poppy said softly. 

Merry smiled, "Please, Poppy, you don't have to be so formal. I'm Merry....just plain ol' Merry," he said, then slipped into the hall.

"Merry's not used to being called by a formal name," said Frodo, shaking his head. "He should be, though; he's the heir of Brandy Hall, and they'll all call him Master Brandybuck one day." He chuckled softly. "Merry as the Master of Brandy Hall. What's this Middle-Earth coming to?"

"Trouble, that's it," said Poppy. "Especially since Mr. Took's going to be Thain."

"Good old Pippin!" said Frodo. "I have to wonder what will happen to him when he gets older and settles down. It's really to early yet to tell what he'll be like...Not much different, I'll wager."

"He'll settle down soon enough," said Poppy. "He had that Diamond girl on his arm all night. She'll tie him up eventually. You'll see."

"Take him into bondage, you mean. Nothing short of shackles and a chain will keep Pippin down."

"Too true!" Poppy laughed, and then she blanched. The bell in the grandfather clock chimed four times. The swarming images from her dream came once again into her mind, and she visibly shook. "I-I-Oh, no. It's four in the morning! I'm so sorry!" she said suddenly. The wild emotion in her eyes could not be contained, and knowing this, she turned from him.

"Why are you crying?" asked Frodo. He had seen her eyes shine as she turned away.

"I'm not," she said, lifting her eyes to the ceiling in an attempt to keep her tears from falling.

He surveyed her skeptically, "Yes, you are. It's the dream isn't it?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"It's that battle-- on New Year's last year; the nightmares are from that battle," he said. He moved to her side, and he could see that it was true by the look of pain on her face. "I remember you being very upset when Faysal told us about it, and you said someone close to you died in that battle, back at Crickhollow..."

"Yes, but I can't talk about it now," she said. She drew her hands to her face and wiped her tears away. "I just can't. I just--can't."

"You can, when you are stronger. You've been hurt by the War, and I'm sorry to say that it's my fault that such evil came to the Shire. Those men and those orcs-- they came looking for me."

"For you?"she said, astonished. "But why?"

"I'll explain everything. Later. Right now, you're so tired and upset that you can hardly stand. Please, go to bed and get some sleep." 


	4. Part 4: Pippin: Chapters 13 to 16

XIII. Packing for a Long Trip

  
  


Gandalf was a bit confused the next morning. Surely, he of all of the occupants of Bag End should be the last to awaken, for his age lengthened his sleeping requirements. But when he woke the next morning, the house was silent. No laughing, no humming, and no (to his surprise) sounds of cooking. He chuckled as he went to the pantry. "Well, maybe I'm not as old as I look..." he murmured in amusement. He rattled around in the cupboards until he found the raspberry preserves. Then he went to the bread box and cut off a hunk of bread, jellied the piece, then bit in and chewed it thoughtfully. Presently, he heard the light patter of feet in the hall. He turned to see Pippin nearing the doorway. The hobbit yawned and mumbled something along the lines of "Gd mrning, Gandllf."

"Well, good morning Pippin! You and I are the first awake it seems."

Pippin poked around in the pantry with mild interest. "Where's Poppy and Sam? I want breakfast, and I can't cook."

"As I have said, we are the first ones awake," said Gandalf, setting some water to boil.

"Really?" asked Pippin.

"Really."

"Wow." Pippin looked around. "This is weird," he said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and twirling the belt on his robe. "It's almost bizarre. Unnatural. Maybe I should go back to bed..."

"What's 'bizarre' and 'unnatural', Pip?" said Merry, who was rubbing his eyes as he padded into the kitchen.

Pippin peered around the pantry doorframe. "Oh, um, I guess it's not so weird now that you're up. It's just that everyone else is asleep...What time is it anyway?" 

Gandalf looked out the window at the warm, yellow sun and judged the time from it's position. "It is a quarter of an hour before the tenth," he said. 

"No wonder I'm hungry!" exclaimed Merry. He helped Pippin find some syrup and went to the porch for the delivery of milk and eggs. "It's pancakes, I suppose," he mused. "That's all I know how to cook."

Soon, the kitchen was full of the delicious smell of pancakes, but the kitchen was very messy. Pippin had attempted to help Merry to prepare the meal, and as a result, little foot prints of flour had been tracked all over the floor, and egg shells were lined up on the counter right next to a group of splatters of batter on the wall.

"Oh, my goodness!" gasped Poppy as she came into the kitchen and took in the scene. She stared open-mouthed at Pippin. He looked like he had been rolled in flour. "How did you...?--- Hmm. Maybe I don't want to know."

Pippin decided to give her an answer anyway. "Well, um, the flour bag had some faulty stitching, and when I set it down, it went POOF!" Pippin made an explosive face, then went on, "And then, well, I couldn't see, and um, Merry was stirring the batter at the time. When he saw me, he slapped his spoon in the batter and started laughing...."

"And then Pippin got real mad 'cause I laughed at him. He picked up the flour sack and made like he was going to hit me with it, and so to keep him from attacking me, I had to defend myself,"added Merry, demonstrating with his spoon how he had slowed Pippin's attack by bombarding him with a sticky face-full of batter.

"And then," Poppy growled sarcastically, adding to the story, "I came into the kitchen and I told you that you were cleaning this up. You made the mess, not me."

"Of course. We're always stuck with cleaning things after we have fun, aren't we, Pip?" said Merry.

Amazingly, the mess was cleaned up by the time Frodo woke up, and breakfast was on the table by the time Frodo had formulated the day's plans. 

"Sam and Rosie will be back tomorrow night, and we'll only have time for two days of packing before we leave," said Frodo, "I suggest we start now, because we'll be packing for about a six-month trip. We won't take a cart, because we may have to leave the road if it gets dangerous, so pack up in the saddle packs. Use your own horse's saddle for weaponry, clothes, and must-have personal effects that you'll use every day. Bill will carry the other supplies."

"I want to be in charge of food," volunteered Pippin.

"Fine. Merry, would you mind being treasurer?" asked Frodo.

"No problem."

"Sam may not have time to pack cooking supplies," Frodo mused. "I might as well pack his pan set and roasters for him. But I don't know what utensils he prefers to use."

"I'll deal with the utensils; I've watched him cook, and I know what he uses," said Poppy.

"Great. That just leaves one last thing..." said Frodo, and he furrowed his brows as he considered this earnestly.

"And what's that?" asked Gandalf.

"Security," said Frodo, looking at Gandalf hopefully.

"I'm not battling Balrogs on this trip, Mr. Baggins. It nearly killed me last time," insisted Gandalf. "In fact, I might actually leave you fellows when we stop at Bree. I've got a few errands to run."

"Such as?" Frodo cast a questioning look at him, but Gandalf just smiled enigmatically.

"Fine. Keep your secrets," sighed Frodo. "I suppose we will all just have to carry swords and hope for the best after you leave, Gandalf..."

"That you will, and you'll do fine."

  
  


* * *

The next night, the saddles were almost packed and lay in a pile on the sitting room floor. Sam and Rosie crept quietly around them.

"They're in the kitchen," said Sam, a little disappointed. "We're late for dinner."

"Are you complaining that we spent a little extra time at the cottage?" Rosie entreated.

Sam turned and smiled. "No. Definitely not," he said, and he kissed her tenderly to prove his point. He took her hand. "Come on. Let's join the party," he whispered, and led her into the warm kitchen. The company was seated around the oak table.

"Hullo, Mr. and Mrs. Gamgee!" exclaimed Merry who raised his glass to them.

"Sorry we're late..." Sam apologized, and turned a little red. Pippin raised his eyebrows suggestively, then snickered.

"Come on and sit down! It's a rainy day and you need a warm meal," invited Poppy.

The newlyweds sat next to each other and Sam put a hand on Rosie's thigh under the table. "What have we missed?" Sam asked.

Frodo shrugged. "Oh, nothing much; packing mostly. Did you bring some things with you to pack, Rose?"

"Yup, and Sam bought me a traveling cloak for this trip. I'm so excited! Will I really get to see the elves?"

"Yes. We're going to Rivendell, and maybe Lothlórien. Either way, we're going to places full of elves," assured Frodo.

"Sam's told me all about them--but are they really ten feet tall?"

Merry laughed. "Oh, Sam! Ever the exaggerator."

"They're tall," said Gandalf, "about twice your size. But they're not so intimidating as one might think. They are as tall as most wizards."

"Frodo can teach you how to greet an elf proper, Rosie. Can't you Frodo?" Sam said.

"Avo bedin farn mae," said Frodo, a bit sadly. (I don't speak well enough.)

"See?" Sam said, thinking that Frodo gave an affirmative answer.

"Wow!" Rosie breathed. The soft sounds of Sindarin had never been heard in her ears, and she found that she liked the language very much.

"My Elvish is horrible," Frodo asserted, "but I'll try and teach you some on the way."

  
  
  
  
  
  


XIV. Rapiers and Roads

  
  
  
  


On the morning of the third day after Sam and Rosie's return, the hobbits set out for the East Road while the sky was still pink and dew was in the grass. They traveled till noon, then stopped for lunch by the stream that ran along the East Road and let the horses drink. Pippin, Merry, and Sam practiced fencing, and managed to impress and entertain the ladies in their company as they did so. Rosie and Poppy nibbled teacakes as they sat on the rocks by the stream and watched the hobbit-lads spar. Gandalf and Frodo studied the maps, unrolling the large scrolls over a tree stump and mulling over the details of their journey. Every once in a while, they turned to watch the hobbits racing around on the sand by the stream bed as they parried with their deft little swords and shouted playful taunts at each other. 

"Come on, Merry! Take your best shot," Pippin dared. Merry made a wide stroke with his sword and Pippin jauntily hopped backwards to miss the sharp point. "That was your best? Ha!"

Pippin gave the flustered Merry a fast little swipe with the tip of his sword. "Ouch! Watch it, Pip!" Merry yelped, and he grabbed at the scratch on his arm. 

"Okay, all right. Break it up," said Sam. "Fun is only fun until someone gets hurt."

"Like you?" Pippin quipped, then made a playful jab at Sam. "Come on, Sam! Have a go! Draw your weapon!"

"Yes, Sam! Do it!" cheered Rosie, who hopped up and down excitedly on the large flat rock on the sandbar and clapped her hands.

Sam made a nervous little gulping sigh, but he drew his sword, if only for the sake of satisfying his bride. Pippin brandished his weapon with bravado and said, "Come on, then!"

The two hobbits circled each other twice before Pippin made a lunge at Sam, and Sam met his sword with a parry, then used his weight to thrust his opponent's sword backwards. The swords sprang apart. Then Pippin and Sam both lunged and closed the distance, and the sound of their swords clashing echoed through the poplar trees that grew in a zigzag around the stream. Pippin was full of tricks, and he used his longer limbs to his advantage. He made wide, arcing strokes and brought them down with great power. It soon became too difficult for Sam to block the strokes, and he was forced backwards into the stream. Pippin continued his onslaught while Sam tried to keep his feet from slipping over the wet rocks and plants in the water around his ankles. One of Pippin's strokes was successfully deflected by Sam and fell to Sam's left side. Not wanting to be hit by Pippin's rapidly falling weapon, Sam jumped out of the way, and in the process of landing, slipped on an algae-covered stone and fell into the water. He landed with a tremendous splash. Rosie howled with laughter.

"All right, Pippin. You've proved your point, you bully!" Merry said, pulling Sam out of the water. "You're the best swordsman, but I still say you don't fight fair."

Pippin snorted and sheathed his sword. "I do too fight fair! You're just jealous."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Wait!" sputtered Sam, who was squeezing the water out of his cloak. "There's only one way to settle this. Good old hobbit-sense!"

"And that sense would be--?" Pippin queried.

"Mr. Pippin, to prove that you are a fair fighter, you have to fight a fair fighter and lose. That way, we know you'd fought without tricks," Sam said.

"That makes no sense at all! How do we even know what a fair fighter is?" Pippin challenged.

"We know who is NOT a fair fighter," Merry grumbled. "It shouldn't be hard to find a fair one if we follow the process of elimination."

Sam squeezed more water out of his cloak and bit his lip as he thought. "Frodo! Mr. Frodo's a fair fighter!"

"But," Pippin stammered, "Frodo doesn't fight!"

"Precisely. If he doesn't fight, then he doesn't fight unfairly," said Sam, rather matter-of-factly.

"That makes no sense at all!" Pippin shouted again, aghast.

Merry scratched his head and mused, "Actually, if you think about it, it kind of does."

"I'll get Frodo," said Sam, and he turned and ran up the sloping bank to the poplar trees. "Mr. Frodo!" 

Frodo turned from the large leather map he was holding and raised his eyebrows. "What, Sam?"

"We're, um, having sort of a contest, and we were needing you to prove something for us," Sam stammered. "Would you...Could you spar with Pip, just to prove he's not a fair fighter?"

"What?"

"Just a little fight...No, a friendly competition. Oh please, please, Mr. Frodo!" Sam begged.

Frodo sighed and cast a forlorn look at Gandalf, who chuckled and stroked his beard. "Well, now. Frodo, you learned how to fight fair from Bilbo. I also know that he taught you not to fight with the sword unless it was absolutely necessary, but I see no wrong in fighting for the sake of exposing the truth."

Frodo put up his map and followed Sam down the pebbly slope. "This is ridiculous," he mumbled. When they approached the bank, Poppy and Rosie cheered and clapped.

"Ready, Frodo?" asked Pippin, unsheathing his sword.

"Yeah," said Frodo. He pulled Sting from its sheath and it made a beautiful sibilance as it slid from the leather. He readied himself with a practiced stance. 

As was his nature, Pippin lunged first, and Frodo noticed immediately that his lunge was far to long and deep. Frodo parried the strike with a short lunge of his own, keeping his weight on his back foot to help him bear the force of Pippin's blow. Pippin returned upright from his lunge immediately, and he parried with Frodo again with a simple, waist-high quarte. 

  
  


"Come on, Mr. Frodo! Get him!" Sam urged. 

Pippin was quick and threw many successful blows that Frodo parried weakly. It appeared that Pippin had him in a retreat, as Frodo was forced backwards many times by Pippin's lunging strikes. In truth, Frodo was merely studying his cousin's habits, and soon he formulated a plan. Frodo purposefully retired back two steps and feinted a high terce above Pippin's shoulder, forcing Pippin to duck and drop into his low lunge. Pippin darted down low for Frodo's ankle, hoping to force him to jump backwards awkwardly, but Frodo easily stepped aside from Pippin's thrust. Pippin cursed when he realized that he had thrown himself too far forward. Not being met by a heavy parry from Frodo that would help to counter his momentum, Pippin lost his balance. He caught himself with this left hand as he fell forward, then rolled over so that he was once again facing up and staring at the sun overhead. He sighed when a shadow fell over him and he saw that Frodo had the point of Sting, prime positioned, at his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"That mandritto lunge is too deep," Frodo said, taking his sword away from Pippin's neck. "You overkilled." He sheathed Sting and helped Pippin to his feet.

"But did I fight fair?" Pippin asked, hoping to still prove that.

Frodo gave him a pat on the back, and some of the sand from Pippin's fall fell from his cloak in a tawny cloud. "A wise hobbit once told me that 'the only people who fight fair are the ones who don't fight with swords.' So...I suppose neither of us fought fair."

Pippin scratched his head. "Okay. I guess that makes sense..."

Sam, Merry, Rosie, and Poppy were still in a rather mild state of shock. None of them had expected Pippin to lose, yet here they had witnessed it. After a few moments, they recovered and applauded enthusiastically, laughing the whole time. 

"Way to go, Frodo! That's showing him what for!" shouted Sam. 

Pippin turned towards Sam in a huff. "You-You knew he was going to beat me. You KNEW Frodo could fight, didn't you?"

Sam sheepishly nodded his head. "I knew he was able to beat you, yes. But I didn't think he actually would."

Frodo turned a bit red and kicked a pebble away from his foot. "I thought you could use some humility, Pip."

"You know what I think?" Pippin growled. He poked Frodo in the chest and gave him a deadly look. "I think you're worse than Gandalf when it comes to teaching me lessons!" Pippin exclaimed, then he fell into a fit of laughter and gave Frodo a friendly thump on the back. "I guess I should thank you for keeping me in line," he said at last.

  
  


Pippin was rather quiet and introverted for the remainder of the day. Well, he was quiet until the company reached The Lantern, anyway. The little inn at the western edge of the Whitfurrows was bustling with activity. They arrived just in time to order dinner and various malts from the busy and attractive barmaid. As was his custom, Pippin entertained the company by telling jokes and flirting with the waitress. After about the second* helping, the hobbits began to reach that sleepy, content, complacent state of comfort that comes from a full stomach at the end of a busy day. Rosie, who was not used to travel, fell asleep at around eight o'clock on Sam's shoulder. Sam halted the after-dinner conversation to take her to bed. He knew that the morning would come too soon.

  
  


*or third, if you counted Sam's plates; fourth if you counted Merry's.

  
  
  
  
  
  


XV. The Pony

  
  


They set out early the next morning, though a bit reluctant, but the horses had been well-tended and more rested, it seemed than the travellers. By noon, they had gone as far as the Old Forest, and near the not-so-distant roads ahead, they could see the rolling green hills of the Barrowdowns. When they drove past the Barrowdowns, Pippin swore that he could hear Goldberry singing in the fields, and the company was inclined to believe him, for Goldberry's lilting soprano and the song of a meadow lark were not so very different.

The evening rolled over the hills in glorious bands, but the hobbits did not look back to see it. They were nearing the West gate of Bree. Pippin noted as they approached that the gate had been replaced by one much stronger since the last time they had been there. They dismounted before the heavy walnut wood gates and Merry reached up and pulled the rope on the large iron bell. It had a distorted ring from a crack in the side. The peep shutter drew back from the watch window, and a scruffy-faced man stared out. Seeing nothing at the high window but Gandalf, who motioned downward, he bent and opened the lower window. He seemed relieved to see hobbits. "Good Eve, Gentlemen, and Ladies, too. Names and business?" he quieried.

Gandalf bent down and answered for them. "I am Gandalf the White, and here are some hobbits of great note, for whom I can vouch. We've come to stay at the Pony."

"Oi, Gandalf! Yessir, thought I recognized you," said the guard. There were clanking and creaking sounds as slid the hard wood bar blockade from the door. It swung open. "Yea, the Gandalf the Wizard. You're the fella who blessed the beer at that Inn, they say," the man said. He let them file in with their ponies. "Come in and bless some more, will ya?" 

Gandalf chuckled and tilted his head as he passed him at the end of the line. "Of course I will, good sir. Have a good evening."

The man gave him a wave and closed the gate after them. He began to bolt the gate again when he suddenly realized something. "'Have a good evening,' did he say? That's a blessin'!" the man whispered, awed.. "I been blessed! I WILL have a good evening!"

* * *

Barliman Butterbur received them at the front of the pub. "Gandalf and the Shire hobbits! Good to see you all!" he exclaimed, and shook Gandalf's hand exuberantly. "Aye, there's a wee bit more of you than usual," he commented, noticing the ladies. "A few more rooms, then? I'll see what I can do. But first, you'll want to eat; I know how hobbits are!" He showed them to a great oak table by the large west-facing stained glass window. The evening light streamed in through the window and the colors of the glass fell on their faces in mottled reds and blues. "Do you need menus, or do you know what you want?" Of course, by now most of the company knew the menu, and they ordered a nice meal. 

A few more groups of travellers came into The Pony during dinner hour, one of which was a group of hobbit-lads and lassies who sat at the table directly behind Frodo and his friends. At one point during the meal, one of the lasses managed to get her chair leg caught on the hem of Poppy's dress. Neither of them noticed it until Poppy tried to shift her chair so that Pippin could go to the bar for another ale, and finding the process of moving difficult, she examined her hem. The girl behind her turned around quickly and opened her mouth to apologize, but no words came to her mind when she saw Poppy's face. Her eyes flew around the table at Poppy's companions, and she finally focused on Poppy again. "I'm sorry--Mrs. Underhill, is it?"

Poppy paled, and Pippin laughed as he bent down to separate the chair leg from Poppy's dress. "Did you hear that, Frodo--er, 'Mr. Underhill'? Seems somebody thinks you're married."

Frodo at first seemed to ignore the comment and turn back to Merry, then suddenly he whipped his head around. "Wait, what?"

"The lady in reverse 'o me just called Poppy here 'Mrs. Underhill.'"

Frodo turned very red and stuttered confusedly, "Why would she-? I never--"

The girl who addressed Poppy as "Mrs. Underhill" straightened in her chair, but paid Frodo's startled sputtering no heed. She smiled conspiratorially at Poppy and said, "I didn't think you'd come back this soon. It's nice to see you looking so well, though."

"It's good to see you, too, Patchouli," said Poppy (though she would have rather not have seen 'Patchouli The Mouth'), and she shifted to let Pippin fetch his ale. 

It seemed that the odd conversation had ended, but Patchouli was not easily turned aside. She was an unstoppable gossip. She spoke loudly and expressively. "I didn't quite catch the names of these fellows you are travelling with," prompted Patchouli, "but they're very handsome." She tossed her sausage curls and lowered her lashes at Merry, who was debating with Frodo and Gandalf about whether to allow Pippin to drink so much. 

"They're friends of Freddy Bolger's," Poppy said dismissively.

"Oh, and when did you meet them?" she pressed.

"Over in Buckland."

"Buckland? These are Bucklanders? Oh my!"she exclaimed and clucked her tongue. "Strange folks, dearie. Do be careful! I'd hate for you to wind up like that Whitfoot girl. Scandalous! And a niece of the mayor's too..." Patchouli sighed dramatically. "Oh, but I've said too much. I can see that I've upset you. I didn't mean to...I tend to rattle off sometimes, I suppose." With that, Patchouli turned back to her table, shaking her curly chestnut head.

Poppy sighed and turned to the table, relieved to have escaped the Gossip of Staddle, if only for a little while. Pippin returned, sporting a large pint of frothing ale.

"Yo, ho ho! And a bottle of-umm-beer," he sang unsteadily, and took a swig. 

"I think you've already had enough," said Merry. Pippin had already downed a full pint before this one.

"Nay. Just getting warmed up," Pippin said. He smugly took another sip and set the glass back on the table.

"Hmm," said Poppy. She snuck her hand around Pippin's mug and took a hearty sip, then she slid the mug back towards him with an experienced air. Pippin's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" she asked innocently. "I'm on a journey. That was a drink for courage."

"I didn't see you as a drinker is all, Miss." Pippin explained. "I just didn't expect that."

"Really? Me neither. Good beer, though."

"The finest in Middle Earth. And I speak from experience," said Pippin, then added, "Elvish wine is a close second."

"They make wine? But, I thought the elves were against decadence."

"Oh, well, yes they are. You see, that's why Elvish wine is in my second place."

"What do you mean?"

"You can't get drunk on Elvish wine," he said, taking another sip from his mug and enjoying the warmth in his veins. "That's half the fun of drinking, don't you know?"

"Huh," said Sam. "If you're getting drunk tonight, don't expect us to wait up for you when we go tomorrow morning. You'll just have to survive the over-hang."

Rosie giggled and put her hand in Sam's and snuggled into his shoulder. "I don't care about tomorrow, but do we get our own room tonight?" she whispered.

"Um. Let me think...Yes. We rented a four-bedroom suite. Eight beds," he said. "We should have our own room."

"Let's go to bed, then," she murmured suggestively in his ear.

"But, I'm not tire--oh," he stopped as realization dawned on him. He flushed and smiled mischievously. "Oh..." He stood up quickly with Rosie on his arm, and the two excused themselves, much to the amusement of the rest of their companions. 

"Newlywedss," muttered Pippin. He took another drink.

"That'll be you one day, Pip," said Frodo.

"No way. It'll be youu," he slurred dubiously, raising his glass to his lips and closing his eyes as he took another long sip.

"Foolish Took, you're drunk out of your wits, aren't you?" charged Gandalf, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"Tipsy and gettin' Tipsier...Tipsy-er. Is that a word?" asked Pippin.

"It is, but only when you're drunk. Here, let me have that. You've had quite enough," said Poppy.

"You just wanna drink it yerselff," Pippin growled defensively.

"Yes, and are you planning on stopping me?" she asked, sliding the mug away from him.

"No. 'Cause you'd be a realll-y--real cute drunk..."slurred Pippin, patting her on the head as though she were a child and giving her a reassuring smile. Then, the liquor took hold and any and all emotions surfaced. He looked rather upset, and he muttered sourly, "Why-y-y aren't I a cute drunk? Hmm? No one ever says I'm a cute drunk...." He his face contorted like he was about to cry, or maybe sneeze, but instead, his face suddenly relaxed. His chin dropped into his chest and he began to snore.

"Well," said Frodo, "at least he's quiet now."

Merry snickered and gave Pippin a poke, then a shake, as he attempted to rouse him. "Pippin. Pip! Pippin?" 

Pippin gave a little snort and slumped onto the table, then he lay still.

"He's a goner; might as well let him sleep it off," said Merry. He set Sam's empty chair on one side of Pippin's chair and Rosie's vacant chair on the other, then he coaxed Pippin to stretch out over the three seats. "It's funny, you know it?" Merry observed, peering around the darkening corners of the pub. "This place just doesn't seem like the old Pony without Strider lurking in the corners all mysterious-like."

Poppy was intrigued. "Strider?"

"The King of Gondor," answered Frodo.

"This king lurks in the dark corners of pubs?"she asked, raising a cinnamon eyebrow.

"Maybe now would be a good time to tell you about Strider, or Aragorn, as is his right name," Frodo suggested.

Gandalf took the cue, and he leaned back in his chair and told the tale of Aragorn's life: from his youth in Elrond's house, to his years spent in the exile of the wilderness. He summarized his tale with this statement: "He has learned, these nearly ninety years, of various cultures and arts. He has the wisdom of the elves; and his blood, though he at first denied his lineage, is bluer than the Anduin. After many wounds and brave deeds, he proved his virtue and finally claimed his crown, as was his destiny to do so."

"It's just like a fairytale!" exclaimed Poppy, her eyes shining in the candles with awe. "And to think that soon I will see him for myself - - a living legend."

Frodo was busy scribbling notes in his little leather notebook. After a while, he stopped writing and looked up, amazement in his eyes. "Is Strider really that old? Nearly ninety? I thought that he had only the blood of mortal men."

"Ah, I did not say that he was immortal. The blood of the long-living Dunedain flows rich in his veins. The blood of the Edain men, especially the royal line, prolong youth and strength. In days of old, the Dunedain lived life spans of more than two centuries, for their bloodlines were enriched by intermarriage with the elves."

Frodo scrawled this last bit of information on his notebook with his charcoal pencil, then flicked the book closed. "So that solves the mystery of your poem, Gandalf: 'The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.' His 'roots' are his lineage, and the 'frost' is the winter of time."

"Very astute," said Gandalf. "And while I would like to discuss the symbolism with you further, I feel my old strength beginning to wither. So, if you do not mind, I should like to retire."

"It is getting late, I suppose," said Merry. "We all ought to head to bed. Sam and Rosie have had enough time to themselves."

The company laughed until they all broke into yawns. Gandalf slowly stood and bent to gather the sleeping Pippin in his arms, and then the whole company bid "Goodnight!" to Butterbur, then they crept down the long hall to their beds.

  
  
  
  
  
  


XVI. The Marsh

  
  


-May 7-

  
  


"Time to get up! Up, up!" said Merry cheerfully, opening the curtains and letting in the early morning sunshine. 

Pippin opened one eye, then immediately shut it again as his green iris contracted painfully in the bright light, shrinking his pupils into tiny dots. 

"Come on, Pip! Let's get some breakfast in you."

Pippin groaned and rolled over on the bed, plugging his very sensitive ears. His head was pounding with every sound coming from Merry's mouth. He turned his head away from the glaring window and saw that Merry's bed was already made, and Merry was already dressed. Smells of breakfast wafted under the door and made his stomach churn.

"Pippin, I told you not to drink so much. Don't expect me to feel sorry for you! Get up, before you make everyone wait."

So Pippin did get up, but very, very slowly. He lethargically went through his morning routine, then shuffled off to breakfast with his hands in his pockets, muttering to himself.

* * * 

When Pippin and Merry made their way into the pub, Gandalf was already leaving. 

"I shall meet you all in Minas Tirith," he said, gathering his ash-wood staff and his pipe. He stuck his pipe into the twisted end of his staff, then turned and addressed the hobbits. "Farewell, dearest of hobbits!" he said fondly, then with warning added, "Do not return to the Road until you pass through Rivendell! There is danger still." 

"And you be careful, Gandalf! We wish you a safe journey until we meet again," said Frodo, hugging his old friend. 

Gandalf smiled down at him. "Worry not for me. But-- keep an eye on young Peregrin while I am gone," Gandalf said, giving a wink.

"Both eyes, as often as I can spare them," promised Frodo.

Gandalf smiled and gave him an approving pat on the head, then turned to leave. "Goodbye!" he called.

"Goodbye!" said the hobbits, in a chorus of their pleasing voices. The great door opened and closed, and Gandalf was gone.

Breakfast was eaten in nervous silence, and packing was conducted nearly as quietly. When the hobbits finally left the inn, not as much as a dozen words had been spoken among the six of them. Finally, Frodo broke the silence as he lead Strider through the gate.

"We'll head Northeast, following the tree line of Chetwood until we nearly reach the northern border of the woods," he said, pointing to the thick woods. "We'll stop for lunch then, Sam. As Gandalf and I figured, directly due east from there is the narrowest span of Midgewater. If we can manage to pick our way through in less than five hours, we'll have dinner in drier country, and we can rest."

All went well on the road that morning, though it rained. Yet they plodded, sheltered, under the bordering trees of Chetwood until the rain ceased. After lunch, they traveled on again. The ground they traveled soon grew marshy; the mud stuck to the horses' hooves, and dark brackish pools dotted the land as they entered Midgewater. Early midges floated in the air, and attacked the hobbits and the ponies with their pinching bites. The ponies hated them just as much as the hobbits, it seemed, for they swished their tails angrily and tossed their manes to keep the insects at bay. For hours they toiled and picked through the swamp, sometimes riding, sometimes leading the ponies. Always, they were tormented by the blood-sucking midges. One of the midges was especially persistent, and it flitted around Violet, the gentle, grey-spotted mare that Poppy had borrowed from Farmer Cotton. Poppy tried swatting the bug repeatedly, and the insect finally relented after she gave it a snapping flick. It dipped down and twirled from her sight.

The bug flew in a rather straight path from Poppy's mare, and onto the nose of Rosie's nervous pony, Starbuck. The famished insect bit the pony hard, right on the nostril. Starbuck whinnied in surprise, and tossed his mane in an attempt to shoo the bug off of his nose. Thus distracted, the poor pony lost his footing, and his hoof slipped into a pit of mirky water. Starbuck panicked and reared up, and Rosie struggled to hold onto his mane.

"Rosie!" cried Poppy in alarm.

Poppy slipped from her saddle and ran to Rosie and Starbuck. She attempted to grab the horse's reins and calm him, but his round hooves slipped again on the marshy ground, and he threw himself into another desperate fit. He strove to find his footing, and when he found it, he bolted away in a tempest of panicked horseflesh. In the process, he jolted Rosie violently from the saddle and tore the reins from Poppy's grip. Both lasses fell off the sandbar and into the brackish water with a muddy splash and a chorus of surprised squeals. Poppy's mare, Violet, startled by the splash and the screaming girls, bolted off into the swamp.

"Rosie! Poppy!" Sam cried, and he rushed to the edge of the pool in concern. The rest of the company found the whole thing quite amusing, and chuckled as they dismounted from their saddles.

"It's not funny!" Rosie growled, pulling a muddy leaf out of her scummy hair.

"Oh no! Violet's gone!" Poppy moaned, as Merry helped to pull her from the water. 

"She can't get too far in this swamp. Asides, she's got Starbuck to keep her company, and together, they'll find Sam again. They like him too much to stay away for too long."

"I'm sure she'll be fine, but...." She looked down at her sopping-wet traveling dress. "My clothes are in her saddle pack!"

"Oh no! My clothes are in Starbuck's pack, too!" gasped Rosie.

"Well, maybe our clothes will dry before bed if we keep on moving," said Poppy. She picked up her wet skirts and twisted the water out of her petticoat. "Well, that's a bit better... Come on, Rose, It's not so bad."

"Not so bad!"snorted Rosie. "I'm soaked! I'm muddy and, oh! My hair!" She moaned, despairing at the sight of a sullied golden tendril hanging in her face. "What a mess I've become!"

"Can you hold on for an hour, Rose?" asked Frodo. "We're nearly through, and there is a stream, if I remember right, that flows out of the Weather Hills. You can clean up there."

Rosie pouted and sniffed indignantly. "Yes. I guess so," she sighed.

So the girls tramped reluctantly through the marsh, calling their horses as they went. Finally, the drier ground and the sound of rushing water called them out of the swamp. The babbling stream was in sight.

"Oh, sweetness of the heavens!" exclaimed Rosie. "That's more like it!" She called as ran towards the stream eagerly.

"Wait, Rosie! We can wash ourselves and our dresses, but what about dry clothes?" Poppy wondered.

"It's going to get frigid tonight, ladies,"said Pippin, then he added, "Not that I mind you running round with naught on, but you'll catch a cold faster than you can fall off a horse."

Sam brushed a muddy strand away from Rosie's face. "Rosie can wear some of my clothes, if she doesn't mind."

"Oh, thank you, Sam! That's so sweet," said Rosie. She gave him a thankful little kiss.

"I'd give you some of mine, Poppy," said Pippin, "but I haven't got an extra belt, and petite as you are, you'd need one to keep the breeches on you."

"I've a leather belt, but, oh, wait," stumbled Merry. "The notches on it wouldn't adjust small enough for you...We really need to find some clothes your size."

The hobbits were searching for a solution to the clothing dilemma as Frodo dug around in his pack until he found the map, then he dismounted from Strider the Pony with a light rustle and a thump. He folded up the map as he came towards the other hobbits. Merry's eyes lit up as a thought came to him. "Frodo," said Merry, "Miss Poppy's in a bit of a catch, being that her clothes are on her horse and all. And since you're a slender sort for a hobbit...I was wondering if..."

"She can borrow some of mine," he finished. "I don't mind." He went to his saddle and opened a soft leather pouch. He brought out a folded bundle and brought it to Poppy. "I know you won't like wearing a fellow's clothes, Poppy. But don't worry. We'll find Violet and you'll be right as rain soon enough."

Poppy took the bundle with a soft 'Thank-you;' then she went to a rather secluded area of the stream with Rosie to bathe and change. The fellows gathered firewood and lit a fire as Sam prepared dinner. 

In less than a half hour, Rosie approached the fire as she toweled her clean golden curls. "Do I smell Sam's cooking?" she asked.

"Sure do!" said Sam, slicing 'taters' into the rich soup. He stopped and looked up at her, then gave a low whistle. "Well, Mrs. Gamgee...don't you look pretty."

"Oh, stop it, Sam!" said Rosie. She felt very uncomfortable, and couldn't really tell whether Sam's statement was sarcastic or genuine. Sam never lied, and she actually looked rather attractive in Sam's dark brown breeches and blue cotton shirt. She had modified the outfit a bit: since the sleeves were a bit long, she had rolled them up to her elbows, and to show off her necklace and prized bosom, she had unbuttoned the top of Sam's shirt.

Poppy timidly stepped from the dappled evening shadows of the trees. She sighed and tugged a bit at the hem of the borrowed shirt and tucked it into the borrowed breeches. "If Rosie's brave enough to do this, than so am I," she muttered to herself. She ruffled her red curls, still drying in the evening air, and sauntered casually to the campfire. At once, she felt several eyes on her.

"What? Do I look amusing?" Poppy asked sourly, her hands on her hips. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a comfortable cream muslin shirt that buttoned up to her throat, sturdy blue cotton breeches, and a braided leather belt that she tied at her waist.

"It's just a bit-- strange-- seeing you in pants, I mean," stuttered Merry. "It's not everyday you see a lady wearing a fellow's things. . . "

"Let alone a lady in my things," added Frodo, "but you look very nice in them."

"Thank you, Master Baggins," she said, dipping in a polite little curtsy. When she rose from the curtsy, she heard Sam call: "Dinner's ready! Come n' get it!"

  
  


Dinner was warm and filling, and the ladies volunteered to clean up while the lads headed down the stream to bathe. The lasses finished cleaning early and went to find their blankets buried in the packs piled by the base of a large poplar tree. As Poppy rifled through the pile, she came across Frodo's map. Curious, she took a peek at the old leathery scroll, and saw that their course had been carefully charted by Gandalf's hurried script and Frodo's graceful hand. She traced her finger over the beautiful lines and curves that showed where they had traveled, and then to where they were going. Her finger stopped when she saw the line that marked tomorrow's journey. There was something odd about it. She was positive that this line and the mile markings were made by Frodo, but the line looked different from his usually graceful writing. Whereas most of his lines were bold and strong, this line, the one that traced in a broad curve around the landmark called "Weathertop," wavered as though it had been drawn by a shaking hand. 


	5. Part 5: Of Enemies and Elves: Chapters 1...

XVII. Phantoms in the Hills

  
  


They followed the stream as it gleamed in the morning sun. The ponies, Violet and Starbuck, were still missing, but it was Sam's belief that they would head towards the water. As Rosie rode in front of Sam on his borrowed brown pony, she called for the horses by name. Poppy rode in front of Pippin and listened. Soon she heard rustling and the snapping of twigs on her right. 

Frodo heard it, too. He held up his left hand to stop the company. They halted and listened. Sam shifted uneasily in his saddle and put an arm around Rosie. "That doesn't sound like horses to me," he whispered.

Pippin nodded in agreement. "Sounds like boots, not hooves."

Suspicion rose and Frodo drew Sting from its scabbard. It glowed with a pale blue luminescence. Seeing the glow, Merry and Pippin drew their swords as well. Poppy felt for the reassuring weight of her dagger under her bodice and found it. She palmed the dagger and slipped it into her sleeve.

Rosie gasped. "Sam," she whispered, "what's going on?"

"Orcs," said Sam. "Hush!"

The footsteps grew louder, then they suddenly stopped. A voice boomed through the trees, "Halt! Who travels here?"

The hobbits held their breath until Frodo spoke. "We are hobbits of the Shire. Who are you, and what business have you with orcs?"

The hobbits waited for an answer for a tense moment, and Sam whispered to Frodo, "How do you know that this fellow is not an orc? Why should he answer us?"

"I am called Feredir*; my business concerns you not!" Feredir growled through the trees. Suddenly his voice faltered. "How do you know that I travel with Yrch? I cannot see you, yet can you see me?"

"Show yourself and you will see how I know this," answered Frodo.

There was a pause, and then they heard rustling. The trees parted to reveal a strong, rough-looking man dressed in worn leather breeches, a torn black tunic, and a frayed black cape. The hobbits were at once reminded of Strider. The man had a thick rope coiled about his wrist, and a strong hand was clasped around the end of the rope. When he saw the hobbits, he stopped and stared at them. There were shadows still moving behind him, and hissing sounds in the bushes.

"Only a Ranger of the North would bear an Elvish name and be dressed so," Frodo said to him. 

"And only a very important hobbit indeed would bear an enchanted Elvish blade," said Feredir. "Who are you? And who are your companions?"

"I am Frodo Baggins, called by the elves 'Iôrhael.' That is all that you shall know until you answer my question. Why do you bring evil with you?"

"They," Feredir began, tugging the thick rope coiled around his wrist, "are my prisoners. They were living in a cave in these hills after being driven out of the East." He tugged at the rope again, and three growling orcs were pulled from the bushes. They were bound about their wrists and their necks. When they saw the hobbits, they narrowed their yellow eyes at them and hissed, or at least, it sounded like hissing. They may have said "Halflings!" rather wretchedly. 

Feredir continued, "I am taking them to Mirkwood, where they shall be judged by the elves."

"It is dangerous cargo you carry," said Frodo, sheathing Sting. "But, I am glad to know that the Rangers still protect these parts. Now I shall answer your question, since you have answered mine. You asked for the names of my companions. This is my friend, Samwise Gamgee, who rides next to me with his bride, Rose. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took ride there, and with them the maiden Poppy Fairgoold-Took. We are travelling to Rivendell."

"Hobbits going to Rivendell!" exclaimed Feredir. "That is strange, for most hobbits do not trust the elves and rarely do they deal with them, but you are elf-friends, I see."

"Yes," said Merry, bowing awkwardly in his saddle, "and we are friends of the Rangers as well. Do you know of one called 'Strider'?"

"'Strider?'" Feredir mouthed the name, trying to conjure up any memories. 

"I've also heard him called 'Longshanks' out here," Sam added helpfully.

"Ah, yes! Longshanks! Strange fellow, but I can see why you would know him. He travels around the Shire very often I hear, and he's stationed at The Pony in Bree."

"Yes, that's the fellow! A dear friend of ours. We're going to his wedding!" said Merry.

"Wedding!" exclaimed Feredir. "I can hardly picture ol' Longshanks marrying! I can only imagine the kind of girl who would want to marry him--a desperate girl with no other choices!" he said, laughing.

"Actually," said Frodo, "he's marrying Arwen Undómiel."

Feredir's jaw dropped. "The Evenstar of the Elves?" he gasped, "She that bears the likeness of Lúthien?"

"The very same," said Frodo, "and when they're married, she's going to be crowned-- the Queen of Gondor."

"But-- there is no King of Gondor," Feredir said dubiously.

"Yes, there is! It's Longshanks,"said Pippin.

Feredir broke into a broad grin. "If what you say is true," he said, "and I do mean 'If,' then you have lightened my heart. It is good that Gondor has a king, especially a man as experienced in the world as Longshanks." His bright smile faded as he heard a murmur behind him.

The orcs were sitting on the ground, talking in their ugly tongue. Feredir gave the ropes a tug and the orcs growled at him, but rose obediently to their feet. "I must leave you now," said Feredir, "Haste bids me to go quickly to Mirkwood, for I do not trust my captives and have not slept since I have come upon them. The longer I keep them, the more time they have to plot against me. I wish you well on your journey!"

"And we wish you well," said Frodo. "The Valar keep you safe until you reach Mirkwood! And then, if time permit you, come to Gondor and visit your old friend Longshanks!"

"I would very much like to see him enthroned. I shall try to come!" he said. Then Feredir said one last "Farewell!" and then disappeared into the hills, the orcs tramping single-file ahead of him. 

* * * 

The hobbits rode up and down many rolling hills until the sun began to fade. The hobbit-lads were quiet and sullen, for always in the distance loomed Weathertop, its domed crest looking skull-like in the shadows of the evening. The lasses darted nervous glances all around, looking for orcs and goblins, for they had not forgotten the cruel faces of the orcs they had seen in Feredir's company. Evening drew on, and the hobbits set up camp quickly, ate, and settled down to sleep.

Poppy unrolled the soft blankets that she had bound to her pack and lay down upon them. She stared up at the sky. It was black like a pit, and many stars where shining in its depths. She tired out her brain by trying to calculate how deeply the stars were set in the sky. She began to drift into the warmth of sleep. 

Her eyes closed and the stars disappeared for a moment before their image returned to her in her dreams. The glimmering white stars transformed in her dream into falling snow. It was the same anxious dream as before. There was a battle between hobbits and ruffians in the blizzard as she waited inside her home in Staddle. In her dream, the clock chimed twelve times, and she left the house and went out into the snow. She saw hobbits returning from battle. She saw Freddy, and she saw the large bundle Freddy held wrapped in his beefy arms. She saw the red cape, and she knew who lay wrapped in it with his chest pierced through the heart. She ran to Freddy with a sob and took the heavy bundle from him, the weight of it dragging her to her knees. She held the motionless form in her arms and wept over it. Sobbing, she pulled back the hood of the red cape to see the sweet face again, one last time. 

She cried out in shock when she saw the face of the dead hobbit in the cloak. It was not her love's pale face. It was the tan face of her brother, Faysal.

  
  


Poppy woke with a start, confused and upset. Tears ran down her face. What did the dream mean? Was her brother to die? She sat up on her blankets and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She shook with the torment of unknowing.

  
  


Frodo had fallen asleep long ago, and he had also arrived in his dark dream world. In his dream, he was surrounded by his friends, their faces shadowed in the dark. They held swords, drawn and ready to defend him against the Ringwraiths. One by one they fell under the black swords of the Nazgyl. Then Frodo was left alone against the Witch King of the Ringwraiths. There was nowhere to run and no hope in fighting. He fell back under the weight of his own fear. He did not even know that he had put on the Ring until he saw the strange lights and spirits in the Shadow World. There was the corpse-like face of the Witch King above him, strips of ghostly flesh falling away from once-noble cheekbones. Dead eyes pierced his soul even as he felt the blade pierce his flesh.

  
  


Poppy heard him gasp as he woke in the dark. Frodo sat up and put a hand to his burning shoulder. She turned to him from where she sat on her bed roll a few feet away. He looked nervously around in the shadows until he met her gaze. She was the only other awake in the dead of night. He could see that she held tears in her eyes, for they shone like glass in the moonlight. 

In a whisper that was surprisingly hoarse, he asked her, "Was it the same nightmare?"

"Yes, and no," she sighed, wiping the tears away. "It held old and new horrible things. . . But what about you? You had a nightmare, too; I think."

"Old fears," he said, and he shivered, but it was not from the chill of the night air.

The moonlight was weak, and Poppy came closer in order to see him in the darkness. "You look pale," she observed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. It's just an old pain. It will pass."

"Pain?" she whispered.

He put a hand to his shoulder protectively. "It's an old wound. It shouldn't hurt like this; I mean, I thought it had healed long ago." He rolled his shoulder and grimaced as the burning heat began to creep out of his wound. "It's these hills," he said. "We're very close to Weathertop."

"You purposefully avoided Weathertop on this journey. Is this pain...why you did so?'

With sad and distant eyes he said, "Among other things, yes."

"Something happened there," she murmured. "What was it?"

"Ringwraiths," he said. "They attacked me and my friends on Weathertop. . . I remember that night so clearly." He looked across the camp to the southern sky miles away. The glittering stars were blotted out on the horizon by a looming dome-like shape. "But what happened afterwards," he continued, "is a blur. I remember waking up in Rivendell with Gandalf and Sam at my bedside. Gandalf told me that the Wraiths had not only stabbed me, but that the blade had broken off in my shoulder and had been poisoning me slowly from the inside. It was Aragorn who carried me to Rivendell, and one other, though I may have dreamed it, carried me across the river Bruinen. Lord Elrond healed me," he said, then he added, " I owe them all so very much."

"You have incredible friends," said Poppy. She crossed her legs Indian-style and put her hands on her knees. "You're a very lucky hobbit; you know that?"

"Yes," said Frodo, "I guess I am."

"Very lucky," she said. "Maybe you should think of the good fortune that helped you out of that awful mess instead of- -well, the Mess."

"That's sage advice."

"I've had experience," she said, a bit sadly. She shifted on her blankets and pulled some covers over her legs and sighed. "We'd better get some rest. Sweeter dreams, Master Baggins."

"You too," he whispered.

With in moments of laying back down, Frodo was in a blissful slumber, but Poppy did not sleep that night. She lay in the dark worrying for Faysal.

  
  
  
  


NOTE:

* "Feredir" means "Hunter" in the Sindarin dialect of Elvish.

  
  
  
  
  
  


XVIII. Tolar a Imladris ~ They Come to Rivendell 

  
  


The hobbits now had all of the six ponies. Starbuck and Violet had returned to them unexpectedly the night before as they slept in the Shaws under the statues of the trolls. Starbuck was nibbling at the grass around Rosie's head, and when she awoke to see the huge chomping mouth inches from her face, she had screamed, and the startled horse would have run off again if Sam had not grabbed his tattered harness and calmed him. Violet did not seem bothered by Rosie's scream; however, she did nicker impatiently until Samwise spotted her in the brush, without her saddle. Sam spent the rest of the night with the prodigal ponies, lovingly brushing sticks and leaves from their windblown manes and tails as he admonished them gently for running off like they did. 

After three days of traveling through the hills of the Trollshaws and the woods fed by the waters of the Bruinen, the hobbits reached the borders of Rivendell. The woods around them became more lush, more green, and the birds sang with unearthly sweetness, their evening songs trailing in the mists rising from rushing waters. The hobbits, not wishing to disturb the beauty of the wood, were silent but for the tramping of their ponies' hooves. They rode slowly towards the sound of the river Bruinen, called the "Loudwater."

"Halt!" commanded a pleasant yet commanding voice. "What travelers seek passage into the sacred Imladris?"

Frodo turned towards the sound of the voice and answered in the flowing Grey Elven Tongue with his clear voice, "Iôrhael aen estar nin, a Frodo en-Drann im. Nîn mellyn a nim periannath a elvellyn aen." ('Wise-one' I am called, and I am Frodo of the Shire. My friends and myself are halflings and elf-friends.)

"Ah, tithen brannon!" (Oh, little lord!) exclaimed the voice, and suddenly a tall male elf, the bearer of the kind voice, appeared by Frodo's pony. Bowing very low and then straightening, he said, "Istannen le ammen! Le a mhellyn lîn bein, Tolo! Tolo!" (You are known to us! You and all of your friends, Come! Come!) So the hobbits followed him as he darted through the trees. He led them to a beautifully carved bridge that spread over the rushing water like an ornate rainbow, and he crossed it with them, his mocassins making no sound.

Rosie and Poppy stared in awe of the faded grandeur that they saw before them: beautiful peaked roofs with spiraling carvings, ornate and delicate; mature trees that grew right out of the center of homes and palaces; and little streams and gardens in open courtyards guarded only by tall white trees as their fences. The whole city seemed to echo with music and laughter, and the light there seemingly came from no source but the gardens and the people themselves. This was one of the last pure places in the world.

* * * 

Four Days Ago:

Faysal Fairgoold-Took and his companions, Jorin Smallbeck and Falco "Rooster" Moss, were on a hunt. Not for game birds or deer, but for orcs. They had heard in Bree that three orcs had attacked travelers passing near the Weather Hills. So far, the hobbit-lads had not experienced any luck in finding them, though they had searched the Weather Hills for days. The only clue was a small campfire in a down, but it had been prepared with very carefully stacked wood, as was the manner of a hobbit cooking fire. Faysal would never have guessed that his sister, Poppy, had sat by this fire with her new friends only a night before he came, nor would he have guessed that she had dreamt a horrible dream by this fire that revealed his coming death.

In the dry, rocky ground, Faysal saw the hoofprints of several hobbit-ponies. But no sign of orcs. 

They went a few miles south, and Falco and Jorin made camp in the hills. Faysal decided to head farther south and climb Weathertop to get a better scope of his surroundings or possibly to see some evidence of evil-doing from the aerial view. It took him an hour to climb the rocky slope alone, but when he reached the flat summit, he was rewarded with a beautiful view of bright rolling hills and dark valleys shadowed and highlighted by the setting sun. He raised his emerald eyes northward, and he could see a faint glimmer behind a hill. That was Jorin and Falco's campfire. Turning around to the south, he saw a long dusty line running horizontally in the distance that was barren of all greenery. That was the East Road, and it seemed to go on forever. He wondered if the roads were safe enough for travel, as they once had been when he was a boy. He looked down and around him at the ruined stone wall that ran around the circular summit of Weathertop like a ring. His clever eyes noticed the weathered stone steps on which the Ringwraiths had once ascended to the summit to attack the Ringbearer and his friends. He did not know, looking around him, that he was standing at the site of an incredible and painful historical event. 

He listened to the wind whistling through the cracks in the stone. The sun began to set, but he knew he could find his way down in the dark. He closed his eyes and let the soft night wind cool his face. He heard the singing of the wind in his ears. The sun sank behind the horizon, and the moon rose. The wind picked up, and the sound in Faysal's ears increased. The whistling sounds became louder and more clear. There was a--- song--- on the wind. He realized this when he felt a definite rhythm and melody being carried to him. It sounded like the instruments of the elves, only brighter-sounding, and more wonderful. The wind blew harder and he was almost knocked off of his feet. He sat down on the rocky ground and turned his face to the music. He could hear words. Beautiful, musical, rhyming words that he did not understand. The wind blew much harder and his eyes began to water and mist in the force of its blow. He knew that he should climb down before the wind would endanger his descent down the slopes....but the music.....ah.....the music was so lovely. It was so enchanting that he did not know that he had been swept away in the magical wind until he saw Weathertop and the hills shrinking beneath him........

  
  


Farther north, Jorin heard the wind-music too. And so did Falco. The two hobbits looked around themselves confusedly. It sounded like there was a band of marvelous musicians all around them, yet they saw nothing. They looked up to the sky, and then at the Moon. They saw a shape that looked suspiciously like Faysal flying across its white face.

* * *

The hobbits reached the Last Homely House in the late afternoon. As the weary travellers entered the gates, the elf who had guided them thus far summoned two attendants with a gesture. The hobbits dismounted and un buckled their ponies' saddles and saddle packs. The attendants spoke softly to the animals as they led them away. The hobbits then took the packs off of the saddles, and the attendants took the empty saddles away. Their guide smiled at the hobbits as they hefted their packs onto their shoulders. 

"Come!" he said, "The Lady awaits you within."

"The Lady?" wondered Frodo. 

Sensing Frodo's confusion, the elf answered, "She is the Stewardess of the House of Elrond; our Lord is away with his daughter."

"Ah, so he journeys with her to her new kingdom. Minas Tirith will once again be called a blessed city when she comes there to wed the king," said Frodo, smiling. Then he turned to his companions and beckoned to them, "Come, let us meet the lady of the house."

  
  
  
  
  
  


XIX. Ned Bair Na Elrond ~ In the House of Elrond

  
  
  
  


Together they entered, and at once they were swept away by the splendor of the great hall. The walked slowly, reverentially, down the smooth marble halls taking in the glory of the vaulted, carved ceiling above them and the splendidly delicate tapestries around them. On the steps of Elrond's dais, but not on the throne, sat the Lady of the House, Elrond's trusted Stewardess. She rose to greet them as they approached, and she smiled at them with a warm light in her beautiful grey-blue eyes. She was elegantly robed in a long white dress embroidered delicately in lavender thread with flowers and winding vines. Her face was as lovely as a new dawn, and her head was crowned with chestnut hair that, to the surprise of the hobbits, fell down her back in tumbling curls like their own.

"Welcome to the House of Elrond, you who are smallest of the Great, and greatest of the Small. I am Rhînanloess*, Stewardess of my Lord Elrond's house," she said in a voice like mist. She looked upon each of the hobbits before her with an ever-widening smile. "Long it has been since I have last seen your people, and the elves of this house have spoken most highly of you and your kind. We have been expecting you." She spread her arms in the direction of the stairs that spiraled into the ceiling to her right. "Come, your rooms are prepared."

She ushered them upstairs, her graceful figure seeming to float as they ascended into the hall. And as she moved into the hall, her silk-slippered feet made no sound on the smooth floor. She opened a door. "Should you gentlemen desire to bathe before the meal, this room shall serve you well." The hobbits felt the warm, fragrant steam rising from the chamber on their faces, and the hobbit-lads expressed that they indeed would enjoy a bath. 

"Ah, then," replied Rhînanloess, suppressing a smile. She clapped her hands, then added, "I shall send my maids to attend you."

The broad gins on Merry and Pippins faces could not be contained when four beautiful maidens came swiftly and curtsied before them. "A bath, and being bathed by these beauties!" thought Pippin. He smiled at the maids as they disappeared to prepare the bath.

"Come, I will show you your chambers first," Rhînanloess said, and the sound of her voice was as merry as a laugh. She led the hobbits down the hallway, pausing occasionally before the great tall doors. She ushered the male hobbits into their respective rooms and left them there when they seemed content, and they began happily exploring their spacious chambers. Then she led the hobbit-lasses across the hall. "Ladies," she said, pausing at a richly carved walnut-wood door, "this was the Lady Arwen's favorite place: her private bath." 

She opened the door, and Rosie squealed with delight when she saw the great tiled pool that was fed by what appeared to be a natural hot-water spring. The room was full of lovely steam, and jars and jars of precious oils, lotions, and soaps stood ready around the water's edge. Green, steam-loving plants and flowers grew up the white walls and stretched towards a crystal-paned skylight. 

"I can see why it was her favorite place," murmured Poppy, breathing in the soothing steam. 

"Your rooms are adjoined to the bath," said Rhînanloess. "They also belonged to Lady Arwen, yet she used them little. I think that you will like them." She led Poppy and Rosie through a thick door to their right. It opened into a spacious room flush with furniture and soft rugs, including a positively huge bed and an even larger closet. A gentle breeze blew through the room through an open doorway that led to small balcony. They could see that the balcony looked out onto the gardens. Rosie and Poppy were enchanted by the beautiful room, and would have been content to explore it, but Rhînanloess led them back out of it and to the other side of the bath chamber. 

Another great door was opened, revealing a room that seemed to glow. On closer examination, the room only appeared to glow because of the soft cream color that the walls had been painted. The room was just as large as the last one, but the bed was more elaborate than the one before. A canopy arched above the smooth frame, veiling it with long, trailing curtains of cloth so thin and fine that the bed could still be seen through it. The bed itself was covered in cream silk comforters that were embroidered around the edges with gold. Wind fluttered through this room also, yet the doorway through which the breeze blew held no balcony on the other side, but a stairway that led down to the gardens. Rosie was breathless. 

"Oh! It's like a dream!" gasped Rosie. "Everything is so wonderfully soft in this room! Even the air feels like silk!"

"Yes," murmured Rhînanloess, "Arwen lived in this room as a young child, and she loved it dearly. She wanted it to be just like the room she had when she stayed in Lothlorien with her grandmother. She covered everything with silk and feathers!"

"Why don't you take this room, Rosie? It suits you so!" said Poppy.

"Oh, I should dearly love it, Poppy, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind!" said Poppy. "This room fits you!" She looked the whole room over and turned to Rosie with a smile.

"Well, little ladies," said the she-elf, "If you are content, then unpack! I shall send my handmaidens in to prepare you for your bath and for dinner."

The hobbit-lasses thanked her profusely for her help and kindness. But Rhînanloess begged them to think little of it, for she was overjoyed to have such happiness again in the House of Elrond. It seemed that since the Lord of the house had left with the Lady Arwen, sadness had fallen on all who dwelt there. But now that the friendly hobbit-folk had come again, the House was once more full of laughter. She left them with a warm smile, and softly closed the door. 

Rosie and Poppy turned to each other and grinned broadly. What an adventure! What a palace! They helped each other to unpack, and Poppy was relieved to find that the bag that she had put on Bill the packhorse held another dress and more underthings for her to wear--all of her other clothing was in Violet's saddle pack, who had lost her saddle during her days in the wilderness. She lovingly hung her yellow dress in the closet next to the clothes that she had borrowed from Frodo to wear while her green traveling-dress was drying. Just then, a soft knock sounded on the thick bath-chamber door, and Poppy and Rosie both ran out of their rooms to answer it. There stood two slender elf-maidens, dressed in white with long blonde hair. When the elf-maids saw the hobbit-lasses, they seemed a bit amazed, but they recovered and curtsied to them. 

"Soolad,"said Rosie. She had been practicing her Elvish on the way there, but she had yet to perfect it.

The elf-maidens laughed musically at Rosie's clumsy Elvish, then the taller of the two said, "Suilad! I beg of thee thine forgiveness. My Westron-tongue is not practiced, and my companion speaks even less. It has been long since we have needed speak to Hobbits or to Men."

The shorter, but still very tall she-elf came forth and said shyly, "We have been told to help thee bathe, and prepare thee for feasting with guests."

"So have we been told. Is it time yet for feasting?" asked Poppy, forcing the frozen grammar. She was trying to copy the elves' olden-manner of Westron.

"Two hours yet we wait," said the taller maiden. "And haste we need to make, for my Lady makes for thee dresses for a gift, and they will be prepared anon."

The elf-maids went straight to work then. They readied the water by carefully measuring in oils and soap, and then they brought towels. Rosie and Poppy came out of their rooms again, wrapped in the robes the elf-maids had given them. Poppy unpinned her bun so that her hair could be washed. Her hair fell about her like a wavy, tumbling red curtain of fire. When the handmaidens saw her hair, they gasped and came to touch it, for they had never seen red hair before in their lives. 

"Loess tîn caran aen!" (Her hair is red!) said the taller elf.

"Be lacha..." (Like flame..) said the shorter elf.

Rosie stood puzzled, and she really didn't understand their behavior or their words. "What did you say?" she asked.

The elves suddenly mastered themselves, and returned to neutrality with a hint of embarrassment. Poppy supplied Rosie with the answer. "I suppose they've never seen red hair before," she said.

"We have not," said the taller elf. "We have read of peoples that are blessed with it before, but never have we seen it."

The shorter elf touched a red curl dreamily and said, "Estan len 'Naureniel', brennil berianeg." (I call you "Lady of Fire," hafling-lady.)

Poppy smiled at the elf, as though she knew what the maiden had said. Her smile grew broader as her face lightened with a sudden recollection.

"A si ú-bennin man i aen estar nin," (As yet I have not told what I am named) said Poppy. "Im Poppy, a nîn mellon Rosie estar aen." (I am Poppy, and my friend is called Rosie.)

Rosie was shocked. Poppy spoke Elvish?

The maidens were a bit surprised as well. They complimented Poppy on her Elvish, and introduced themselves. They were sisters. The tall elf was Halfiel*, the shorter elf was Aeriel*, and neither had ever seen hobbit-lasses before. They talked long with Poppy and Rosie throughout the bath, for it was a very relaxing setting in which chatter floated freely about like bubbles of soap. The steam swirled around them all, and their laughter echoed long in the chamber. After a half-hour attending the ladies in the bath, the elf-maids excused themselves to go and fetch the dresses for dinner, and they left Rosie and Poppy alone as they dried off by the pool.

"You never told me that you could speak Elvish," said Rosie.

"I had forgotten that I could, actually," said Poppy. She rubbed her hair with her towel thoughtfully. "It's a buried language from my childhood, I suppose."

"Hmm," said Rosie, thoughtfully. She dipped her toe in the water and watched the ripples.

* * *

Down the hall, the hobbit-lads had finished their bath, and they all came out of the bathing chamber blushing. The elf-maids were very good at giving baths it seemed.

* * *

  
  


The handmaidens came back to Poppy and Rosie's chambers. Halfiel held hairbrushes, pins, and decorative combs, and Aeriel held two dark dresses that she set down on a little wrought-iron stool. Halfiel and Aeriel at once began to comb, fluff, and braid Poppy and Rosie's hair. As they worked, the girls chattered about the goings-on downstairs. They talked about the guests that had arrived, and neither Poppy or Rosie recognized their names, which were Legolas, son of Thranduil, and Gimli, son of Gloin. The maidens chattered on about how handsome young Legolas was and how funny but charming his dwarf friend was, and Rosie and Poppy listened with amusement as the maidens compared various bits of Legolas' anatomy to that of an elf called Haldir. Several times all four of the girls broke out in noisy giggles that echoed off the walls. But finally the laughter died down, and the maidens finished the lasses' hair. The elves clothed Rosie in a violet silk dress, long to the floor, and though it was made quickly, it fit her perfectly. 

"The Lady Rhînanloess made this?" Rosie gasped, awed, twirling in front of a polished looking glass. Rosie looked like royalty. Her dress was cut so that a seam ran under her bosom, and the rest of the fabric draped elegantly over her figure. A long golden braid had been wrapped around the top of her head in a circle, and it looked like a crown. 

She danced around, much to the amusement of the handmaidens. They chuckled at Rosie's child-like excitement as they dressed Poppy in a dress so blue that it looked like the deep Sea. It was cut similarly to Rosie's. Poppy's thick hair was left long, and three tiny braids on each side of her head were tied together at the back of her head like a bow, and under the knot, her hair fell long and curly down her back. When Poppy saw herself in the mirror, she did not recognize herself, except for her long red hair, which was as it had always been.

"We look like princesses," said Poppy, looking from herself to Rosie. 

"I know!" exclaimed Rosie, excitedly. "Those fellas won't believe their eyes!"

Rosie and Poppy thanked the maidens very much for their work, and then they headed downstairs to meet the other hobbits in the Great Hall.

  
  
  
  
  
  


NOTES:

*Rhînanloess means "Crowned with curls" in Sindarin. This name is inspired from the English name of my curly-haired friend, Laura, whose normal name means "Crowned with Laurel Leaves." Laura, a fellow elvellon (elf-friend), calls herself 'Rhînanlass,' which is "Crowned with Leaves" in Sindarin-Elvish, which closely resembles the English meaning of her given name.

*Halfiel means "Daughter/Lady of the Seashell"in Sindarin. Its equivalent in today's modern English could be either Pearl or Margaret.

*Aeriel, likewise a Sindarin name, means "Lady of the Sea." Its equivalent may be Ariel, Marissa, or Marisa.

  
  
  
  
  
  


XX. I Beth e-Dhúath ~ The Words of Darkness

  
  
  
  


The hobbit-lads waited impatiently in the Great Hall. Sam hummed and whistled to entertain himself, and Merry and Pippin joked with each other. Frodo stood quietly, leaning on the staircase, feeling very uncomfortable in his grey-blue silk vest and white silk party shirt. He wondered where Bilbo was. His aging cousin was not to be found in his room. Perhaps the Hall of Fire? He listened for sounds of music, then wondered distantly why he thought he heard Gimli's voice grumbling in one of the chambers.

Merry and Pippin continued their jolly racket until, finally, announced only by whispers of silk, the hobbit-lasses descended the stairs, and at once, the eyes of the hobbit-lads were drawn upwards and all sound in the room was silenced. Rosie and Poppy exchanged satisfied smiles as they reached the last few steps.

"Rosie," breathed Sam, "You look, you're so - - Wow."

Rosie kissed his cheek and laughed as she took his proffered arm. "Why thank-you, Sam," she said.

For once, Pippin and Merry were without words in the presence of a lass. And perhaps 'lass' is not the proper word for Poppy; at the moment, she looked nothing like a country hobbit-lass, but very much like a lady of noble birth-- possibly even royal birth. Pippin and Merry really weren't sure how to handle themselves, for they were suddenly struck with awkwardness in the sight of such beauty; it was as if Galadriel or some other beautiful elf-maiden of high esteem stood before them. And so, at this moment, it was Frodo who responded to the need for courtly behavior. He bowed low, much to Poppy's delight, then offered her his hand, extended palm down and level with his heart, in the manner of the nobles of Gondor. She placed her hand on top of his and allowed herself to be escorted to the Dining Hall. Merry and Pippin followed, and soon the sights and sounds of the Dining Hall filled all of their senses: the rich smell of elven foods from the kitchen, the soft elven voices, and the merry soft music of the elves were enough to overwhelm them. 

They reached the long, dark dining table, and Rhînanloess, seated at the head of the table, rose to greet them. "Ah, Good Hobbits!" she said, "Come and sit, for I know of the appetites of your kind! Our other guests will not mind if we begin the meal without them," she assured.

"We would not want to offend these 'other guests,'" said Frodo, guiding Poppy to her seat. "We will wait for them."

"There's no need to wait. We are here!" said a gruff voice from behind the hobbits.

"Gimli!" said Pippin, recognizing the voice and turning around. When he saw Gimli's companion, he added with even more excitement, "And Legolas!"

"Yes, yes, we are here," grumbled Gimli, as the hobbits gathered around him and Legolas excitedly, giving greetings and asking questions. The questions were mostly of curiosity about where they had been, and whether they had gone on any more adventures.

"We have been in Fangorn, visiting the Ents, because Legolas --insisted--- that we do so," Gimli explained, irritatedly. Although his voice would say otherwise, Gimli had truthfully grown very fond of the Ents. He liked their deep voices and their long stories, and also their long beards. They reminded him of dwarves.

"And before that, Gimli decided that we ---must--- see the Glittering Caves," added Legolas sourly.

"What? I thought that you loved the Caves!" said Gimli, his voice rising. He had reason for his confusion. Legolas really did love the Caves; in fact, he had been silenced in awe by their dark beauty.

Legolas laughed merrily and said, "I was merely returning your sarcasm."

"Well, do not return it!" growled Gimli.

"Then do not give it!" retorted Legolas.

The reunited Fellowship members shared a few smiles at Legolas' and Gimli's good-natured bickering, and they led their two friends, still brimming with arguments, towards the table. Once Legolas and Gimli stopped exchanging challenging glances and remarks, Frodo introduced them to Rosie and Poppy. The ladies rose from their seats and curtsied as they were introduced. Rosie was particularly awed by the warm strangeness of the dwarf and the pure masculine beauty of the elf, for she had never seen either race in her life. She blushed in their presence as Sam had done upon meeting the elves for the first time.

Gimli and Legolas were pleasantly surprised by the presence of the lady-hobbits as well, and Legolas was quick to congratulate Sam on his marriage to Rosie.

"Ah, Samwise Hamfastson! A lovely wife you have chosen!" exclaimed Legolas. He bent and kissed Rosie's little hand, much to her astonishment and delight.

"I have never seen the ladies of your kind, and I have only heard something of them from my father," said Gimli. "He said that they possessed marvelous spirits and voices, but ---Alas! Never did he mention their radiant beauty!" He took off his helmet and reverently bent in a sweeping bow; so low was it that his beard touched the floor. "I speak for both Legolas and myself when I say that we are honored by your presence, ladies of the Shire!" he said, as he straightened and again adorned his favored helmet.

"As we are honored by yours!" answered Poppy. She and Rosie rose again from their seats and curtsied to the dwarf and the elf, careful not to scatter the cushions piled on their chairs. At that moment, a chorus of bells chimed excitedly throughout the hall, and Rosie and Poppy exchanged alarmed glances.

"I do not wish to interrupt," said Rhînanloess, with a touch of humor in her voice, "but those bells signify that dinner is ready to be served."

As was their custom, the hobbits came to their seats with astonishing quickness at the announcement of a meal. And when all was set, the feast began. Food and wine flowed as freely as their conversation. The reunited members of the Fellowship shared much news with each other concerning the recovery of their peoples and their lands. Rosie and Poppy delighted in the elvish food, and Rhînanloess was quick to answer their questions concerning elvish spices and cooking techniques. She was a good and gracious hostess, and when she had eaten as she wished, she left the hobbits and their friends so that they could enjoy each other's company. It was then that Poppy and Rosie first heard Legolas and Gimli recount their contest at Helm's Deep: a deadly game they played during the heat of battle; it was won by Gimli, who killed the most orcs. 

Rhînanloess returned an hour later with two hobbits, and when Poppy saw them, she recognized them immediately. "Jorin! Falco!" she exclaimed, rising from her seat and grinning. "What a surprise!" 

The hobbits, the elf, and the dwarf turned to see the guests that Poppy had greeted. Jorin Smallbeck and Falco Moss came towards the table, but did not sit down, and Poppy saw at once that distress and exhaustion lay upon their anxious faces. This unsettled her a bit, and her voice shook as she introduced them quickly to her friends. Jorin and Falco also seemed a bit distracted as they politely responded to their introductions with: "Jorin Smallbeck and Falco Moss--at your service and your families'." It was plainly obvious that something was amiss. 

Falco felt rather uncomfortable under the gaze of the hobbits, elf, and dwarf, and he clutched his hat nervously in his hand as he spoke. "Begging all of your pardons," he said, addressing those in the hall, "but we--" he gave Jorin an anxious glance, then continued, "we need to talk to you, Poppy."

Poppy paled. "Please excuse me," she said, softly. She slipped down from her seat and curtsied to those dining, and then quickly went with Falco and Jorin into the courtyard. When they reached the shadows of the garden, Falco and Jorin looked at each other, both of them reluctant to unveil the bad news.

"I already know why you and Falco are here. You don't have to explain," she said. She was shaking, she realized, and she tried to steady her voice. "It's Faysal, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Jorin, and he gave her an odd look that asked, 'How did you know that?' Poppy shook her head and didn't answer.

"We think he's been 'napped," Falco put in, then added hastily, "and I think it was by means of magic." 

"Magic?" muttered Poppy.

Falco gave her the account of the strange things they witnessed while camping near Weathertop, and Poppy's face gradually grew paler as her suspicions rose and her thoughts became darker. Because Falco said that they had heard unearthly music and felt powerful winds, she thought perhaps that dark Faery Magic was involved.

"We--we didn't know where to turn; we thought the Elves could help, seein' as they know most magics, so we came here... "stammered Jorin. 

"And then we heard that hobbits were here, and Lo and Behold! we find you!" said Falco. "And since you're acquainted with these elves and their wisdom, do you think that they could help?"

"Yes, but, what can be done after they tell us what we already know?" she asked. "If it's fae magic, there is little that we mortals can do!" 

She paced about and swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. She was remembering her dream of Faysal's death, and her mind raced with dark and depressing thoughts that she wished would go away. She suddenly felt the need for some form of action so painfully that her head ached. She stopped pacing and she turned to Jorin and Falco. "Indeed," she said, "the elves possess knowledge of all magics, and they know where most of them originate. Oh, if we could only find the source of this magic! Perhaps, then, there would be hope of finding Faysal." She suddenly brightened. "I just met a very educated elf tonight. He may be just the one to help us!" she said.

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Of old," said Legolas, searching through the great stores of books and scrolls in the library of Rivendell, "the Faeries were the friends of the Elves. We were all alike in that we were the immortal children of the Lord of All, the Great Ilúvatar, and there was peace between us. And then, Mankind was created by the Valar, and their presence was a source of contention between us," he sighed, and he pulled out a great moldering tome from a carved shelf. He looked at the writings of the cover, then put it back and continued, "The Faeries argued that we, the ancient children of the Great One, were above Mankind, and deserved the worship of Man. The Faeries desired for us to rule the race of men, and their greediness for this power overtook them. Without the approval of the High Council of the Wise, they created a land all their own, to be like Ilúvatar and have a Heaven that mortals would both covet and revere." 

Legolas found the book he was looking for, and he pulled it down from the book case. "Ah, here it is," he said. He strode to the great study table and cleared away some of Elrond's dusty papers and scrolls. Poppy, Jorin, and Falco gathered around to see the book as Legolas flipped gingerly through the yellowed pages. He selected a page with a beautifully drawn map on it. He pressed the book's binding flat on the table and pointed to a spot on the map that had ancient, Feanorian runes written beside a drawing that closely resembled Weathertop. "You said that the wind came from the South East of the Watchtower of Amon Sul?"

"Yes," said Falco, "As nearly as I could tell it."

"There is a Faery Mound--- here," Legolas said, as he pointed to a circle located in the fork of the Brunien and the Mitheithel rivers, directly south of the Trollshaws; it was also southeast of Weathertop. "It may be a gateway into the Land of the Faeries." Poppy looked over his hand at the drawing, and saw within the circle that a number of spindly runes were written in a spiral curve.

"Ah-A gateway?" squeaked Jorin. "You mean, we go in there?"

"You want to find Faysal, don't you?" asked Poppy.

"Well, yes, but--" 

"You're not afraid, are you?" challenged Falco.

"Well, to be honest, yes," said Jorin.

"Good, it's settled then. We set out tonight," said Poppy. "The more time we waste, the more time Faysal has to get into trouble." Legolas came forward and placed the book which held the map, now closed, into her small hands. 

"I will guide you to the mound, though I dare not enter, for the Fae have put an enmity between my people and their's. Should I be discovered in your company, all that you wish to accomplish will be lost," said Legolas.

"We cannot thank you enough," said Poppy. "You have done much to help us, your Highness," she said, as she curtsied low to him out of respect and thanks. She barely had time to rise when she was startled by a gruff voice.

"Legolas!" called Gimli's voice from the hall. "Where are you hiding yourself, Elf? Speak!" Gimli's round, bearded face appeared in the doorframe. "Aha! There you are! What's this? Hmm? You have the look of battle about you!" he observed, excitedly. "To what war do we ride now? You know that whither you go, thither I ride!"

"Ho, Gimli! We ride to the Fairy Mound at Water-Meet to rescue a hostage hobbit," said Legolas.

"Hostage hobbit?" repeated Gimli, then he puffed up his barrel-like chest. "Well, then! His captors shall be hewn down!" He rubbed the blade of his axe with his thumb in a loving manner, and said, "It has been too long since you have seen battle, Axe of Azad!"

"I will not go into battle," said Legolas sadly, "for we go to a land that despises my race. But Gimli, I would have you go in my stead."

"Do I sense fear in your voice, my friend?" inquired Gimli. He lifted his bearded chin and said, "This is utter nonsense! If we must do battle, three hobbits and a dwarf, great though my battle-strength is, would not be enough! We would need your bow!"

"He is right," said Poppy, paling, "Should we have to face the wrath of a faery lord, four mortals, even four of the greatest warriors, would not have the strength to prevail!"

"Ah," said Legolas, "That is a matter in which no elf can aid you, I fear. And there are no human warriors for many leagues all around. We must make do with what we have."

"And we have you!" said Gimli, still not willing to go without Legolas. "You must come with us!"

"Alas! If you knew the Faeries, you would know that I cannot!" sighed Legolas, with despair. He knelt down to Gimli's height and put a hand on his shoulder. "You know that I truly wish to go with you, for I, too, seek adventure, Gimli." 

Poppy's face suddenly brightened with a thought. "Would the Faeries be fooled by a disguise, my Lord?" she wondered.

"The lesser of them may be, but the greater Fae would easily recognize my elven light," replied Legolas.

"We could dress you in the manner of a man from Gondor!" said Poppy, "A helmet would hide your wondrous ears, and we would have to cut your hair at the shoulders, but--"

"Cut my hair?" said Legolas.

"Good luck getting him to do that!" muttered Gimli.

"Well--" said Poppy, seeing the distress on the elf's fair face, "maybe we won't have to. You could wear a hooded cloak instead."

Legolas nodded, then smiled. "It shall be dangerous, but I am no coward. I shall guide your way!" he said. "Get ready! We leave at midnight!"

"Leave?" whispered a voice in the door. "So soon? And to where?" The voice was Sam's, and those gathered in the library turned to see him. "Begging your pardons!" said Sam, a bit alarmed, for he had not wished for them to hear him musing to himself. "I was just passing by--I was looking for Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo, see--And now I hear you're all leaving. . .?"

"And begging your pardon, Master Samwise," said Poppy, a bit ruefully, "but I just realized that in my haste, I have neglected to tell neither you, nor Master Baggins, about this dire emergency!"

"Emergency?" said Sam. 

"You remember my brother, Faysal, from the Farlands?" Poppy asked. Sam nodded. "Well," she said, "It's a bit unbelievable, but he's been taken, napped!-- by the faeries!"

"Oh, Miss Poppy!" cried Sam. "Why didn't you tell us? We'd 'a organized a rescue party straight-away!"

"This is a dangerous mission, Master Samwise, and I guess why I didn't say anything was because I'd like to put as few lives in danger as possible," said Poppy, with fear in her voice. 

"Mr. Frodo's not afraid of dangerous missions," said Sam, "and neither are Mr. Pippin or Mr. Merry! Fairies aren't nothing compared to orcs and cave trolls!"

"Orcs and cave trolls?" said Falco, amazed.

"Seein' as we've dealt with worse before, I don't see why you shouldn't let us help you! We've got quite a bit of experience in these matters," said Sam, with conviction.

"You did say that even 'four of the greatest warriors' could not stand before a faery lord," said Legolas. "Perhaps ten with willing hearts, bearing elvish weapons and Imladris' blessing, would suffice?"

Poppy smiled, for hope rose in her for the first time that evening. "Indeed," she said, "if their hearts be willing, then it may be so."

  
  



	6. Part 6: Trials and Celebrations: Chapter...

XXI. Ennyn Faedor ~ The Gates of Fairyland  
  
  
  
Sam was torn in two. He wished very much to go with Frodo and his friends in the rescue party, but Rosie had suddenly taken ill. After she had met Mr. Bilbo and talked with him a long while before she and Sam had said good-night, she had swooned in the hallway on her way to bed. The excitement, he supposed, combined with her weariness from the journey, had overtaken her. He knew he needed to stay behind with her in the House of Elrond. Thus, it was a group of eight rescuers and a wrangler that left Rivendell on horseback in the bleak dark of night: Poppy, Jorin, Falco, Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, Merry, and last, but not least, rode Pippin, who openly wore his mail and sword. The wrangler was the elf named Beiadan, who would go with them to their destination and then return to Rivendell with their horses, for the journey in Faedor would have to be done on foot.  
  
  
  
They rode quickly and quietly in the night, and Legolas guided them, peering out from his deep hood with his keen elf-eyes. Always they headed south and to the west, following the Bruinen and the overgrown paths that ran the length of the river. It was evening of the next day before they heard the blessed sound of colliding waters. They had reached the parting forks of the Mitheithel River, where the Bruinen separated from those waters to go east, while the Mitheithel continued to the north. This place was called Water-Meet.  
  
Poppy was eager to find the faery mound, but she, like the rest of her rescue party, had rested little, and she desperately fought against the need for sleep. Sleep was winning. The Company decided that it would be best if they took a brief rest, so the Company curled up on the ground under the trees as Beiadan led their horses away into the shadowed forest.  
  
At moonrise, Poppy woke with a start. She had not intended to fall asleep, and she wondered how many hours had gone by and had been wasted. She heard talking and realized that some of her companions had woken as well. They had, and they were preparing food and rousing the others. After they had awakened and eaten a light meal, Legolas guided them again through the darkness. They wove around the great trees that looked like ghostly specters in the moonlight, for their pale bark reflected the moon and their leaves cast dark shadows. It seemed as though they wandered for hours in the woods with little progress in finding the mound. Many times, small hills that looked like mounds provoked their curiosity, and Legolas would only shake his head, explaining that he could sense no magic in the soil at the base of the hills. Poppy's hope was failing. She looked at the map again with Frodo, who could read the First-Age maps with ease and experience.  
  
Frodo suddenly laughed as he looked at the map, and said, "No wonder we've run into so many mounds! See, here it says, 'Emyn I-Pheriannath Dorthar,' 'Hills Where the Halflings Dwell.' This place used to be a hobbit establishment, and they must have had their holes here in these hills years ago. Hmm. I wonder if this is where Sméagol---" Poppy spared him an odd look when he said the strange name. "Never mind," he said, and continued. "As to the Faery Mound....." Frodo measured the distance with his fingers, walking them a short distance over the page with his left hand. He pointed over the trees. "It should be a quarter mile directly south."  
  
And so they walked south in the light of the full moon with Legolas striding ahead of them, drawing back low branches for his friends so that they would not be scathed by the twisted limbs. Suddenly they came to a clearing, and Legolas stopped in his tracks, drawing in a sharp breath and looking around. "Magic," he whispered. "Yes, it is here. Close to us even now."  
  
  
  
He knelt swiftly to the ground and drew back his hood, pressing his sensitive ears to the turf so that he could hear the heartbeat of magic pounding in the earth like drums. Yes! Just above them, on the crest of the hill, he could feel and hear the pulse rising to that point. His entire body, all of his flesh that was touched by the mystical blood that made him immortal, was throbbing with heat. He was so close, so dangerously, tantalizingly close to a rift in the earth that poured forth magic like a geyser. Magic. The life-force of the Elves. His essence. Above the rushing of his blood, he also heard sweet voices, unbelievably clear and high and thrilling to the ears.   
  
He was just about to signal to the Company to go forward when Frodo ran ahead of him in a burst of ecstatic energy. "Frodo!" cried Legolas, "Wait for us! Do not rush to the gates!" Legolas bounded after him, his long, swift, silent strides overtaking Frodo easily. When he reached Frodo's side, he caught hold of Frodo's arm and stopped him.   
  
Frodo was breathless, and his eyes shone with an uncanny light. "Legolas! The magic! Can you not feel it? Can you not see it? It is beautiful!" he exclaimed looking all around him, tears inspired by the awe of pure beauty filling his round eyes.  
  
"Yes, yes, Frodo, I can feel it, and I can hear it... But it amazes me that you can ---see ---it!" said Legolas, staring in wonder and concern at his friend. "But stay! We must not rush too eagerly into this magic, for not all magic is good! Be wary, and stay close!"  
  
Thus the Company found Frodo and Legolas, standing amazed at the foot of the hill. The Company was struck with awe as they looked upon the elf and the hobbit before them. Because he was so close to the hill's magic, Legolas' elven light shone in his fair face above his tunic, and he looked tall, powerful, and princely, but still very much like himself. But Frodo's aspect had changed completely, for he was also revealed in power: the light he had earned in his sufferings, the light of his own tortured spirit, shone even brighter, more brilliant than that of Legolas'. Frodo was no longer like a being of flesh, but shone clear, translucent like a glass or a vial filled with pale light that shone brightly, even through his clothes.  
  
Frodo, seeing the astonishment of his friends, called out to them, "What is it? What's wrong? What do you see?"  
  
Pippin answered, shaking and pale, "Frodo, Legolas, you are almost too bright to look upon. What has happened to you?"  
  
"I do not know," said Legolas, "but we are near the Gates of Magic. Come! Do not be frightened!" He came among them and urged them forward and up, to the top of the hill. At the summit, they found a large, flat, round stone glowing in the moonlight. It was a milky white stone of great mass that shone with hidden colors that teased the eye, for they were there, and yet, not there. The colors could not be described, for they existed outside of the mortal spectrum. On the flat surface of the stone were writ strange gilded embosses that shone gold in the light of Legolas' glowing face. Legolas fretted over the symbols. "Alas! These strange characters are older than even my knowledge! I cannot read them!" he said. "How now shall we enter?"  
  
Poppy studied the carvings. They were written in a great circle on the round stone, and as her eyes followed the curves of the script, she grew more and more bewildered. Strange letters they were: rounded shapes of different sizes, with tiny lines fanning under their lower edges. She had never seen these symbols before in her life, and she felt her hope falling like a pierced bird. But then, in the light of the great pale moon, she realized her folly. The illuminated carvings were not words, but pictures. They were carvings of mushrooms: strange little capped mushrooms engraved on the stone and pitted with gold . . . Mushrooms standing in a ring. Indeed, she thought, it's a fairy-ring.  
  
She cried aloud her revelation out of sheer joy. "Look! It's a ring! A fairy-ring!" she squealed. "We need only stand inside it and it will take us!" She clambered then to the top of the stone, and before any could reach to stop her, she jumped within the circle. In a flash, her world became pale, twisted, eerie, and she felt her insides melting in the great light. She realized that she was spinning, as if caught in a vortex. Her hair whirled around her, and her body felt tight and constricted. She felt like she was being pulled downward with her foot caught in a drain. Her eyes watered and stung in the whirling air. Around, around, and around she spun, faster and faster. At last, she fell to the alien ground with a sickening thump. She trembled where she lay, and her eyes failed her. All light and color was snuffed out like a candle.   
  
XXII. "To the King!"  
  
She did not know how long she lay in the dark silence. When Poppy's eyes felt the warmth of light again, she opened them cautiously, squinted, and raised herself on her hands. The soil shifted under her hands; it was sand. She felt strong arms helping her up, and she looked up to see Frodo, no longer glowing with light, but fully flesh. He helped her to her feet, and she suddenly became aware of the others sprawled on the ground around them. They had followed her lead, and they, too, had jumped into the gate. Now they lay dazed on the sand after spinning in the vortex.   
  
Frodo ran to raise Pippin, who looked a bit green and sick. Poppy attempted to rouse Legolas, who sat on the ground, cradling his pounding head. His soaring elf-senses were reeling about, and he was trying to control himself. Unsteadily, he rose to his feet and pulled his deep hood over his face. He went to Gimli and raised the stout dwarf, who was sputtering and trying to paw sand out of his red beard and mouth. Poppy found Falco already on his feet, and with his aid, she helped Jorin to stand. Jorin had suffered a sprained wrist in the fall, and now he held it to his chest, trying to hide his pain with his wonder. He looked around, and his wide brown eyes saw that they stood on the shores of a sapphire lake that fed a forest so green that the color of the foliage stung and shocked the eyes. He rubbed his eyes and squinted into the distance. In the center of the great emerald woods there rose a great white palace gleaming. Music, ancient, lilting music, beautiful to hear, wound through the trees and around the spires of the castle.   
  
"What is this place?" wondered Jorin, whispering in awe.  
  
"'Where is this place?' Why, Here, of course. Where else would you be? But then, if you want to be specific, you could be in Tir Na Nog, or Avalon, or maybe the Land of the Young, or more likely, the Land Perilous. Any of those four, really. Or all of them at once. What does it matter to you?" answered a cheery high voice.  
  
"Don't toy with me, Poppy. Just give me a straight answer," growled Jorin.   
  
At that moment, a tiny little figure like a dragon fly buzzed in his face. It was humanoid, of female form, though tiny, winged, wet, and obviously very cross with Jorin. "How about you give me an answer first? Hmm?" said the creature, with the same voice he had heard before. A voice which, Jorin realized, was definitely not Poppy's voice. "Who, or what, are you mortals, and wherefore do you come here?"  
  
"We-Well, I am a halfling, named Jorin. Who..what... are you?" he stammered.  
  
"Half--ling? You are half-faery, then?" asked the creature, not answering Jorin's question. By now, most of the Company had noticed the little nixie* and were staring at her in wonder.  
  
"No, my lady, we are Hobbits--called 'Halflings' by Men," said Frodo.  
  
"Ah, I see. You are mortals," she observed, darting on swift wings around the strangers and peering at their anxious faces. She flew by Legolas and pinched his nose with a tiny hand. "Ah, a handsome man you are," she said. She kissed him on the nose and darted off towards the hobbits, leaving Legolas quite shocked. She paused at Poppy, hovering in the air and studying her.   
  
"Hello," said Poppy, softly. She was nervous under the faery's scrutiny.   
  
"Hello to you, too," said the faery. "You're a very pretty Half-bit. What's your name? And can you sing?"  
  
"I'm Poppy Fairgoold-Took. And yes, I have been told that I can sing," Poppy answered, her voice softer yet. The faery, a nixie of the water, smiled a conspiring smile. She suddenly gave a series of shrill whistles, and a swarm of pixies*, nixies, fauns*, and nymphs* appeared out of nowhere and circled the Company with curiosity in their exquisite faces. They settled into a semi-circle, like an audience waiting for a performance. They looked up at Poppy and smiled, with beautiful faces of colors and hues unnatural to all other races.   
  
"Now," said the nixie, "Sing something for us- -about 'Hobbits.'"   
  
The faeries eyed her expectantly. They wanted her to sing. What could she do but give into their wishes? So Poppy lifted her voice in an old ballad:  
  
"The land of the Shire,  
  
That is our home.  
  
Where laughter flows fast,  
  
And stories told slow.  
  
There's food on each table,   
  
The people are small,  
  
But in our own land,  
  
We Hobbits walk tall!"  
  
She would have continued to the next verse, but the faeries were by now in such a frenzy that she found herself growing fearful. She stopped the song there, and she shrank back behind her companions in terror. But the faeries begged her to continue in a chorus of chiming voices:   
  
"Don't stop!"  
  
"Oh, how pretty!"   
  
"More! Sing more!"  
  
And then suddenly, one of their voices rose above all and said, "She should sing for the King!"  
  
"The King!" said one.  
  
"The King!" a second echoed.  
  
"Let's take her to the King!" another declared.  
  
"Yes! Yes!" agreed a chorus of little voices.  
  
Poppy was both relieved and frightened: relieved that the faeries had liked her song, but afraid to perform for their king. Her face turned deathly pale when the faeries suddenly began to sing:  
  
"Her dress we'll make of spider's silk,  
  
We'll bathe her in pink roses' milk,  
  
Her shoes be made of robin's skin  
  
Made to slip a princess in!   
  
O! With jewels bedeck   
  
Her pretty neck!  
  
And 'round her drape  
  
A gossamer cape!  
  
To Oberon! Sad, Seelie King!  
  
For him, for joy, a song you'll sing!"  
  
And as the faeries sang, they came and coaxed her out from her hiding place behind Legolas' cloak. They lifted her from the ground, beating their little faery wings and commanding the air to their wills, and they bore her swiftly away to the gleaming palace in the distance.  
  
The Company stood in amazement. They felt completely and utterly overwhelmed by the magic that the faeries used. There was nothing that they could have done to stop the faeries from taking Poppy away, for they possessed no power to match that of the faeries'.   
  
"Well, that was strange, and that's a fact," said Merry. "What should we do now? Rescue her, or rescue her brother?"  
  
Legolas' brow furrowed. "We will rescue both. But first, we should make our way to the palace of the King of the Faeries, and there we may learn of Faysal's fate, and also rescue Poppy if she needs it."  
  
* * *  
  
They took Poppy to the tall tower near the castle: high, and overlooking the strange, beautiful green world that was fading in the sunset. The walls were clear as glass, and Poppy was extremely self-conscious of her nakedness as the nixies stripped and bathed her quickly with tiny little sponges. They sang a merry song in their ancient tongue as they scrubbed. Poppy was growing angry. She wanted to find her brother, but these faeries, these horribly powerful, willful little creatures held her in bondage that she could not escape. She feared their magic, for she had heard many stories of the evil of which faery magic was capable. The faeries finished, and laughing, they lifted her out of the tub and summoned a whirlwind of hot air to dry her. Poppy squealed in a panic as the winds surrounded her, but as soon as they had come, they had gone, and she stood on the fine pearl floor swaying on her feet.   
  
Quick as a wink, two nixies* came in and brought her a dress. The fabric of the dress was pale, silvery white, and unbelievably thin and light. It was indeed made of spider's silk. The brownies flung the dress over her and it fluttered onto her slender form like a whisper. Two brownies brought her slippers, of some pale hide, delicately beaded and etched--probably by tiny, loving hands. And though she was wearing shoes for the first time in her life, Poppy barely noticed them at all, for so soft and light were the slippers. She walked in them a bit, and she stared out the glass walls, trying to assimilate all that had just happened to her. As she watched the sun sink behind the hills with wonder, a tall Sidhe* faery suddenly came into the room bearing a carved box. The Sidhe opened the box and brought out a necklace of jade, to be worn with, as she said, "the blessing of the Tengu* of the East." She slipped it around Poppy's neck, and then she led her out of the room.   
  
The Sidhe led her down a spiral staircase, ever so carefully guiding her feet, lest Poppy break the branches of the white tree that formed the staircase. Whispers and murmurs from the branches of the tree made Poppy nervous as she made her way down into the courtyard. The gardens of the courtyard were lush beyond compare, and though the sun was setting in Avalon, the plants showed no shadow, but glowed cheerily with tiny lights that moved and whispered among the flowers. She wished that she could stay, linger there and see more of the beautiful plants and peoples of the land, but the silver-haired Sidhe led her on into the palace walls. Here, light and music poured from the palace. She went through a dark doorway that led into an empty hall that had no floor, just an incredible black shadow like a pit. Poppy nearly fell into it, and the Sidhe laughed. "Here," she said. She took Poppy's hand and the two of them drifted into the pit like falling feathers, and gradually Poppy saw light below them. A great floor bustling with faeries stretched beneath her, and the faeries looked up as she and the Sidhe descended. This was the King's Hall, and the people were his Seelie Court.   
  
Poppy and the Sidhe touched down on the flagstones, and the Sidhe parted the crowd of beautiful fae to reach the King's dais. There before them, on a great carven throne covered with vines, sat Oberon himself. Poppy was stunned at his appearance, for he looked so young and fair and sad that her heart went out to him. His age was indeterminable, as it was with most immortals, for he appeared to be a youth, just new in manhood, yet his eyes revealed that they had seen years beyond any mortal understanding. She curtsied low before him, and she feared him no longer. King Oberon turned his young face, and his wizened green eyes spied Poppy. "Sib," he asked the Sidhe, "who is this maiden that you have brought to me?"  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas led the rescue party through the tall whispering trees. The great castle was not far from them now, and he was eager to reach it. The way seemed to be suspiciously left unguarded, and so he bade his companions to stay in the forest so that he could investigate. He went out of the trees and onto the path that led to the drawbridge of the castle. Legolas walked onto the drawbridge and looked around. 'How strangely empty this place seems!' he thought to himself. Suddenly, he sensed eyes watching him, and he spun around to see an unclad nereid* of great beauty sitting behind him on the bridge. Her pale skin glowed rosy in the dusk of the fading sun. She was dipping her bare feet in the water, and singing softly, not caring or ashamed that she was naked. She caught his gaze and smiled coyly. "Hello, young mortal," she said, and her watery voice made Legolas blush.   
  
Ashamed for looking at her so openly, he lowered his eyes and bowed. "Good evening, my lady," he returned.  
  
"Good evening to you! My, what a courtly greeting, and from such a handsome fellow," said the nereid, her voice like silk. She rose from the bridge and stretched luxuriously, arching her naked chest. Again Legolas felt suddenly hot and terribly ashamed, and he tore his gaze from her and looked at the ground. "What's wrong?" asked the Nereid. "Did I say something that offended you?"  
  
"Nay, lady," said Legolas, "it is just that I have never seen a maiden so beautiful," then he added, "or one so...unclothed."  
  
She laughed musically at his shyness, and Legolas flushed crimson. "When it is warm, I like to be naked," she said. "I swim here often under the bridge--alone." She sauntered over to him with her pale hair undulating with her movement. She stopped just inches in front of him, clasping her hands together behind her back in a thoughtful manner. She met his eyes, saw the beauty of their dark beguiling blue, and looked into his face, which had the features of a god. She saw at once that he was fair beyond any mortal she could recall. "What is your name, my fair lord?" she asked.  
  
"I am called Legolas by my friends," he said.  
  
"Legolas..." she whispered, tasting the name on her tongue. She found the name exquisite, and she savored it in her mouth. She looked again at his handsome face, and she touched his strong jaw with her soft fingers. She caught his eyes, and she said, "That is a name as fair as its bearer. Truly, you bear a face and form more beautiful than any mortal man that I have seen." She traced her fingertip down his jaw and to his chin, worshiping his chiseled features. She ran her thumb over his lips, and then, to his surprise, she cupped his chin and kissed him with her soft red lips. She pulled away playfully, and she asked, "Legolas...would you care to come swim with me? The water is so very cool."  
  
Legolas smiled, for he was tempted, but he remembered that his friends were waiting for him. "Nay, Lady, though you honor me by asking, but my friends--" he gestured vaguely towards the trees, "are waiting for me. Perhaps later?"  
  
The nereid, a princess, was not so easily put aside. "Ah, but, Legolas," she said, putting a hand to his chest. She unclasped his cloak and pushed back his hood, "I want you to come with me-- now." The cloak dropped from his shoulders and the Nereid could see now that he was indeed handsomely built: tall, powerful--and, her mind added, virile, yet graceful. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, pressing her body against the solid length of him while trailing her fingers through his lovely golden hair. It was then that she felt them-- the ears. They were pointed, like that of a faery's--or an elf's. The thought shook her horribly....Legolas. That name! It was Sindar-Elven, and it was three words meshed into one name: Leg-o-las. Her ancient mind recalled what it meant: The Green of the Leaves. She pulled away from him violently. He was an Elf! "Legolas!" she exclaimed, recoiling. "You are--You're an Elf!" Legolas paled. He did not know what to do, for if his secret was revealed to the other faeries, their wrath would surely doom himself and his companions. In his panic, he reached out to the Nereid, locking her in his strong arms, and he clamped his hand over her mouth. She squealed and thrashed, and then, in her turmoil, she unleashed her power.  
  
Legolas was knocked backwards, and he fell off the bridge and plunged into the watery moat below. The livid nereid gave a cry of rage, and she summoned the once-calm water to form powerful surges and swells that tossed Legolas violently, burying him under great rolling waves. Legolas managed to struggle to the surface and he gasped and gave a sharp cry for help. "GIMLI! FRODO!" he managed to shout before he was again assailed by a torrent of water and was pulled beneath the angry foaming surface.  
  
* * *   
  
NOTES:  
  
A nixie is a water-faery, like a nereid. Legends are confusing as to how big nixies are and whether or not they can fly. (I chose to make mine small and air-maneuverable.) Always, they are said to have blonde hair and blue eyes.  
  
A pixie is a small faery belonging to a subclass from the extremely old days of faery lore. They are about the size of a human hand, have red hair and small eyes, and often wear green clothes for camouflage.  
  
A faun is a faery that appears, in the face and torso, to have the likeness of a child. However, the legs, ears, eyes, and tail of a faun are deer-like. Fauns love the land and, according to the Greeks, their close proximity to a civilization is beneficial to the fertility of crops and women.  
  
A nymph is a nature spirit that may be life-bound to a certain part of nature, such as to a tree, a lake, or a specific forest or mountain range; bound thus, the nymph may only live as long as her respective tree, forest, or lake exists. Nymphs have the appearance of beautiful mortal women, and they have enchanting voices. They love to dance and sing, and are often chased by mortal men who unwittingly fall under their spell.  
  
A brownie is usually a male earth elemental spirit with tanned, wrinkly skin and shaggy beards. In general, brownies are hard workers that bind themselves to specific houses or families. With long, clever fingers and humble hearts, they help in household and farm chores. They are usually around two feet tall, but are quite athletic and can jump and run with great agility.  
  
A tengu is a faery of air, Japanese in origin, that looks like a bird with a human face.  
  
A Sidhe fairy, pronounced "Shee", is from one of the most famous fairy lines. Sidhes are the tallest, most noticeable faeries that at one time had an alliance with humans. In my story, these faeries have the ability to use their glamour (or glamyr, their 'faery powers') to change their skin color. Any faery that I might mention to have unnaturally colored skin is probably a Sidhe...and some with normal tones might also be Sidhe, they just don't want to change their skin color.  
  
A nereid is a malicious type of nymph that lives in water. According to the Greeks, nereids had a tendency to seduce handsome men into water, and then steal them or, in some legends, drown them (Poor Legolas!).  
  
Extra Note -*--Most of this info came from a few helpful Internet sources that you can find yourself if you are interested. Just type in "Faeries" on any search engine and you'll find tons of sites. A lot of the information for those sites came from Brian Froud's books: FAERIES, and GOOD FAERIES, BAD FAERIES. I highly recommend them-- the art and the research are spectacular.   
  
XXIII. The Grieving King  
  
In the throne room of King Oberon, Poppy sang and danced for the King until her voice and legs began to fail her. It was then that the King of the Faeries rose and gave her permission to rest.   
  
"Rest now, child. You have done well," said Oberon, and his voice shook with joy and weariness. He had indeed enjoyed her performance and he had laughed and smiled the entire time at her entertaining lyrics, as many in his hall had likewise done. The faeries in his hall clapped and cheered until the musicians began to play again, and then the faeries lifted their own fair voices and began to sing and dance, much to Poppy's delight. During the dancing, Oberon's face suddenly looked grieved, as though he were overcome by some unstoppable wave of emotion. He quickly slipped from his dais and retreated to an inner chamber of his castle. Only Poppy noticed his leaving, and she was suddenly filled with concern for this boyish King of the Faeries. What had troubled him?  
  
* * *  
  
Hearing Legolas' cry, the Company roused from their resting spot in the quiet woods and raced towards the castle. They called for him. "Legolas?" "What is it?" "Are you hurt?" "Where are you?!"  
  
"Here! The drawbridge! Help!" came Legolas' frantic voice. They turned and saw the Nereid Princess on the drawbridge of the castle, glowing blue with pure magic energy. Several other faeries had joined her now, and they flew from the bridge and pulled Legolas from the water. When they reached the shore, they violently tossed him to the ground and bound him with strong glowing cords of light.  
  
"What's this?" bellowed Gimli. "No one---not even some dainty glowing fairy--- captures my friend!" He called to his stunned companions, "Onward! Rescue Legolas!"  
  
And so they drew their elven weapons and charged the fae. But the faeries were fast beyond descriptive words, and the comparatively huge elven weapons swung at them clumsily, and missed them by great distances. When the fae struck back with their stunning magic, the Rescue Party was flung back, and soon the battle was over, and the faeries had more captives to be judged by King Oberon.  
  
* * *  
  
The King returned to the Great Hall with his face carefully composed. His silver crown sat intimidatingly tall and grand on his fair golden head as he came and sat again upon his throne. Poppy eyed him carefully. Indeed, he had been crying. His green eyes had red rims and his face looked pitifully young and distraught. She timidly approached his throne and curtsied to him as the music played on and none of the fae were watching her.   
  
"Your Majesty looks troubled," she said softly. The King's face again looked pained, and she was suddenly afraid for her life. "Have I offended my Lord?"  
  
"No, child," said the King. "You have done nothing..." He stood and rose from his throne and descended from the dais. He stood before Poppy, a head and crown taller than she was. He looked into her face with his green eyes shining. "It is only that, you, you so resemble one I have lost, so long ago, that my heart breaks anew."   
  
Poppy was shocked. The King had openly made her party to his most private grief. She drew in a breath, thinking of what she should say.  
  
Tears, shining pure like diamonds, began to slip down the King's cheeks. Poppy held her breath as the mighty Oberon, the King of the Fae and Lord of the Gates of Magic, began to weep. His face, so seemingly young just a moment ago, seemed older and grayer. He reached out a trembling hand and gently cupped her chin, and he tilted her face with a tender touch as he looked at her carefully. He studied her face for a long moment, and then he sighed hollowly with the weariness of many years of despair as he dropped his hand from her chin. In a shaking tone, he finally said, "Yes, the likeness of Leelinau is written on every feature of your face. How it grieves me to be reminded of how she once was..."  
  
Poppy gasped, and she took King Oberon's hand on an impulse out of the desire to console him. "Then, you know that I am her great-grandchild?" she asked, not daring to tear her gaze away from the eyes of the King.   
  
"I do not," he said, "but I would believe it if you were to tell me so."  
  
"Then I do say so, Sire. For I cannot lie to you."  
  
Oberon's eyes filled with tears again, and he said, "And I cannot lie to you, either. Know, child, that Leelinau was my daughter, and therefore, since you are of her blood, you are also of mine." Oberon squeezed her hand very gently as he watched Poppy's face as she grasped the fullness of what he had just told her.  
  
Softly he bade to her, "Tell me, does Leelinau yet live in the mortal world?" His voice was pleading, begging to know any news of his daughter, the daughter who fell in love with a mortal and abandoned the Land of the Young to go to the land of age and death.   
  
Poppy felt his heart's silent cry, and it pierced her deeply. She stood rooted to the floor, feeling a lump rise in her throat. "Nay, Lord," she choked out at last. "She lived a long life of joy and happiness, but she fell into darkness long before I was born."  
  
"So it is as I had feared," said the King, his voice breaking. "My beautiful daughter, my dove, my youngest child, the most loved ... She is gone forever. How the people of Tir Na Nog shall weep, and the waves of Avalon's shore sigh for her! Alas! And my wife Titania knows not of this news!" The King sighed, and he took Poppy's trembling hand and pressed it to his heart. "But though the message you have brought me is grave to hear, I am glad you have brought it. For many long years I have wondered, wished, and waited. But now that I know the truth, I will no longer await her return..." He looked longingly into her heart-shaped face again, and he saw her delicate features, her expressive eyes, and her soft red lips that smiled sadly in understanding, and his heart suddenly ached no longer. "Perhaps, though," he said, "in you, the spirit of Leelinau has returned."   
  
King Oberon kissed her hand and released it. Then he ascended his dais again, and he turned and stood tall in front of his court. "My Lords and Noble Ladies," he called above the music, "Let us begin the feast!"  
  
The faery ladies and gentlemen gathered at the great table, talking amongst themselves with their bright faces shining. Those that had wings on their back fluttered them to fan themselves after the dancing they had done, and their gossamer appendages shone with glorious colors in the glow of their own faery light. Poppy was seated to Oberon's left, a seat of honor. She noticed that the seat to Oberon's right was empty. Oberon noticed the empty chair as well. "Where is Titania?" he muttered.   
  
"I am here, my husband," answered a silken voice above him. Titania descended into the Great Hall with her garments flowing angelically around her. Her pale cerulean skin shone in the light, and all of the faeries in the hall held their breath in the sight of her great beauty. When she finally settled in the chair next to Oberon, Poppy could see that Queen Titania was indeed very fair, and she also noticed that, like herself, Titania had long red hair. Oberon leaned over to Titania and whispered in her ear, and Poppy suddenly felt Titania's gaze. She turned her eyes to Titania again, and she gave the Queen of the Faeries a warm, yet sad smile.   
  
The feast then began in earnest, and plates of strange, rich, delicate foods bounced around the table as the Fair Folk's appetites willed them. Poppy, though she was hungry, ate nothing, for once a mortal eats faery food, their body will never be satisfied by any other sustenance. All around her, the beautiful faeries laughed and drank, and Poppy was content to watch them, for they were a strange and wonderful people to see: The silly little gnomes with their long beards and their big noses, the lovely little sprites with their squinty little eyes and red hair, the blue-skinned Sidhe tribe with their silvery hair and their delicate laughs, and of course, the sweet fauns- - the little doe-eared and round-eyed people who ate and laughed and danced like furry hobbits. Poppy felt strangely at home among them all.  
  
Oberon turned to her and he smiled warmly. "Are you happy here?" he asked.   
  
"Yes, my Lord, though I fear that my heart still longs for the land of my birth," she said.  
  
"I wish that you would consider living here, my child. Here, you would not age, nor experience death, for I would freely give you the gift of immortality."  
  
"Oh, my Lord, that is a great gift, but there is only one thing that my heart truly desires," said Poppy, wistfully.  
  
"You may ask of me anything," said the King.   
  
"I wish, my King, to know the whereabouts of the mortal, Faysal of the Farlands."  
  
The King's face darkened. "Faysal. Ah, he is no longer here."  
  
"He is not?"  
  
"No, child. He was executed after---"  
  
Poppy gasped and blanched whiter than her dress. The King noticed her distress immediately.  
  
"Far-Child of my daughter, this news injures you?" he asked, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.  
  
Poppy tried several times to form a reply with her trembling voice and lips, but she felt as though she had been hit in the stomach, and no air was in her lungs. She looked as though she could faint. By now, the court in its entirety had noticed her distress. The music stopped, and the faeries were looking at her with concern.  
  
Poppy finally managed to take a breath and she said, "Why-?" with a raw voice.  
  
The King put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and called for Lars, his record keeper. The tiny gnome almost tripped over his white beard in his hurry to reach the King. "What were the crimes of the mortal, Faysal?" Oberon asked in a dark tone.  
  
Lars recognized the King's tone and stuttered his reply, "S-Sire, he interrupted the Primaver-Lirnae ceremony of magic, and fought with an Enemy blade when we attempted capture. He killed Wirnane with an Elven blade."  
  
Poppy swallowed the painful lump in her throat.   
  
"Yes," said the King, "I remember." He dismissed Lars.   
  
Poppy shrugged the King's hand off her shoulder in disgust. "You--You--you sentenced one of your own blood to death!"  
  
"My blood?" exclaimed the King.   
  
"He was my brother!" she hissed quietly, suddenly riled to anger. Her voice once again became full. "He was taken here to this land by enchantment! It was not his fault---he was afraid, that is the only reason why he fought you!" she cried in her brother's defense. And then she realized that it was too late to defend him. The fullness of his death swathed her like a shroud. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted---she wanted her brother back. But she also realized that even with all the magic in the Land of the Faeries, she could never retrieve him from the Land of the Dead.  
  
She mastered her mind with a steely will. When she spoke again, she spoke in a toneless, hollow voice. "I have offended my King," she said, "and I beg of his pardon. My grief overwhelmed me then, and it does still. I beg of your Highness his forgiveness."  
  
"And you shall have it, surely," said the King, trembling, "though I am afraid that it is I who should be asking for yours."  
  
It was just when Poppy had closed her eyes against the pain of her stinging tears that the Nereid Princess, still nude, burst into the hall followed by several angry nixies. The nixies, with their surprising strength, drug behind them a bound, frightened line of mortal-looking prisoners. The prisoners, Poppy realized with shock, were her companions.  
  
"My Great Lord Oberon!" said the Nereid. "These mortals have committed a grievous crime and should be judged, rightly, by Your Majesty's court!"  
  
Oberon began to rise from his seat, but Poppy stood more quickly than he did. "And what, pray tell, was their 'grievous crime?'" she asked, her voice shrill with emotion.  
  
"Dare you speak before my father, the King?" growled the Nereid, narrowing her eyes at Poppy. "Indeed, who are you that you should speak thus and sit at the left hand of my Lord Oberon?" The Nereid, then seeing the resemblance that Oberon had also observed, suddenly stepped back. She said in a wild, breathless tone, "Why, you look like--Is it really you...?"  
  
"She is not Leelinau, though her resemblance to her great grandmother shines in her face," said Oberon, tenderly motioning to Poppy to sit down. She sat obediently, but her blood boiled. The King continued, "Though, it is little matter to you that she should speak before me, for it was you, Helana, who interrupted the feasting of my court with these outrageous accusations."  
  
"'Outrageous!'" scoffed the Nereid, Helana. "Would you think that an ELF walking the shores of Avalon is not cause for actions to be taken? And moreover, is it not a crime that his companions, yea, these mortal companions, fight with him against the Royal Guard with Elvish weapons?"   
  
Oberon sighed, looking over the frightened prisoners bound up in their glowing bonds. Then he turned to Poppy looked into her troubled, grieving face. Her delicate features were cruelly seized with the heat of anger, the pain of fear for her friends, and the coldness of mourning for her brother. He was amazed by her strength--indeed, would not any other lady in the world weep and wail at a moment such as this? He was greatly moved by her plight. "These are your friends, I see," he observed. "Ah, now I am torn by my own laws, my Child. By my own hand, I have written that Elves are an enemy race, to be tried as criminals for trespassing in Tir Na Nog. Any allies of the Elves are also enemies. . . But, I do not wish to take more of your friends and family from you because of an unfair trail. I would ask you, for their safety, to speak for them to win the favor of the Court. The Lords of my court will listen to your petition, for they know now that you are of Faery blood and spirit. Do you believe, in your state of suffering, that you are capable of the task?"  
  
Poppy bit her lip, and she looked from the stormy face of the Nereid to the kind, concerned face of the King. She looked to the noblemen and ladies of the Court, already shifting in their seats to look at the captives who had invaded their court, and their faces seemed to view the hobbits, the dwarf, and particularly the elf, with bitterness and even hatred. She realized that if she did not speak for them, then no one would.  
  
XXIV. Trial and Errors  
  
"I must collect myself," Poppy thought. Already the faeries of the Seelie Court were readying for trial; they were milling about the Great Hall on silent wings and feet. They had left the feast, still warm on the table, and had gathered before the throne. Some of them looked angry, for the very idea of an Elf in Faeryland sickened them; others were merely suspicious, and these fae eyed the prisoners in the tall cage with sharp glints in their eyes.  
  
She did not hear King Oberon address the court, nor did she listen as Lars announced the charges against the prisoners. She was trying to push Faysal out of her mind. She was trying to bury the pain, and trying to focus her thoughts on her friends; she was also trying to remember to breathe as her emotions threatened to choke her. Distantly, she heard Oberon beckon to her. She closed her eyes and swallowed. 'This is their only chance!' she thought, 'And I---I am so woefully unprepared!'   
  
She rose from her seat and turned towards the Court. The room fell into a black silence. She prayed to the God of the Elves for guidance, and to the Valar in her mind as she began to speak.   
  
"Noble Lords and Ladies," she said, "I speak in the defense of the accused, for they are my friends, though my faery blood would call them my enemies." She walked to the great cage raised with solid black mahogany poles. She reached into the bars and clasped the hands of Legolas that were bound at the wrist, trying to reassure him. The court gasped, amazed that she would touch an Elf. Still holding Legolas' shaking hand, she said to the court, "He is as you have feared: an Elf, made your opponent by an argument between a handful of immortals a millennia ago. He is the prince of a land called Mirkwood; he is royalty, and yet..." She released his hand and moved towards the seated Court. "He barely knew me, yet he helped me to come to this land to find my brother, though he knew that the journey would prove perilous. He came--and trespassed your land-- only because I asked him to come. Indeed, if blame need be placed, let it lie with --me. Legolas' only crime is that he had pity for me, and he wished to help." Poppy stepped away from the bars and hoped with all her might that the faeries would accept her bargain.  
  
The members of the court began to whisper among themselves and fell into debate within their own minds, trying to discern the truth in Poppy's declaration.  
  
Poppy turned again to the cage and caught the dark eyes of Gimli the dwarf from where he stood next to Legolas. She saw that Gimli was afraid, something rare for him, and she continued boldly, "As for these others, who were accused of aiding Legolas as he resisted arrest, they also acted only because they wished to help a friend in danger. Consider that they would not have needed to fight for Legolas at all if he had not come to this land by my bidding in the first place. Indeed---the only guilty party here is I. I realize now that this mission was not only fruitless---for my brother is already dead---but also that in my recklessness and haste, I put my own friends in danger.  
  
"I beg of the Court not to judge my companions, for they are innocent of evil. Place my actions instead under your scrutiny. Judge me alone, and let me pay for this grievous crime against my friends."  
  
King Oberon felt his heart lurch as he looked at the sincere, resigned face of Poppy. The Court was struck silent by her selfless plea. To take willingly the punishment for these crimes onto herself meant death.   
  
Poppy stared at the floor, unmoving. The Lords and Ladies of the court began to whisper among themselves, and King Oberon spoke from his throne. "Has the Court decided to accept the plea bargain?"  
  
A faery lady, called Sib, answered him for the Court, "Yes, my Lord. We believe the words of the defense. If it pleases the King, let the prisoners be released, and the mortal, Poppy, receive judgement in their stead."   
  
"Release the prisoners!" commanded Oberon, "They have been found innocent!" The imprisoned Fellowship members were immediately released from their glowing bonds and the door of their prison swung open, obeying the King's command. The Company, free from their prison, bowed low to the King in thanks, but their eyes strayed worriedly to Poppy, on whom the Court would pass judgement.  
  
Oberon eyed the court carefully. "And does the Court have a verdict for the accused, Poppy Fairgoold-Took?" he asked.  
  
The Seelie Court shifted in their seats and began to whisper again. Their representative, Sib, clasped her dainty white hands behind her back as she waited for the consensus. She waited a long time. The faeries argued quietly among themselves for some time, then they slowly died down, and Sib stepped forward. "Your Majesty," she said at last, when the Court settled into an uncomfortable silence. Poppy lifted her face and watched Sib, preparing herself for her doom.   
  
"We . . ." Sib began, suddenly uncomfortable, "we cannot reach a verdict, and therefore, we yield our powers to thy judgement."  
  
"You concede?"  
  
"Aye, we do," said Sib, with a delicate sigh.  
  
Oberon was relieved. Poppy's fate was in his hands now, and he knew exactly what to do. "Then I say," he began, "that this mortal child of Leelinau has already suffered enough in the death of her brother. I give to her the boon of my pardon. And I invite her and her friends---after their weapons have been confiscated, to join us in the feast that has been interrupted by this trial."  
  
The Seelie Court (with the exception of Helana, the Nereid who was still angry that Legolas had unwittingly deceived her) seemed pleased with Oberon's wise rulings. A few of them that passed Poppy on the way back to the great feasting table spoke to her and said that they gave her their sympathy.  
  
When all in the hall had been ushered out to the feast, Poppy was left alone with the King, who still sat on his throne, watching her with concern. Poppy curtsied low to him. "Thank you for your mercy, my Lord," she said.   
  
Oberon waved his hand dismissively. "This entire trial was nonsense. Even the Court of the Wise could not make sense of it. I only know that you did a very selfless thing in placing yourself at fault. You may have lost your life, had the Court passed their ruling. When you offered yourself so freely, I knew that your companions must be of great worth to you."  
  
"Yes," said Poppy. "I have met no nobler or kinder folk in my life." Poppy looked out the door to the lights from the dining hall. She knew that her companions were there, and she wondered if they would be safe. "Sire, you do not believe that they are still in danger here, do you?"   
  
Oberon smiled at her concern, and he rose from his throne and walked down to the floor before her. "No, for they are my guests. Any who would attempt to harm them would face my wrath." King Oberon took her arm comfortingly, and he led her to the passageway to the Dining Hall. But when they reached the great curtained doorway, Poppy stopped.  
  
"Forgive me, your Highness, but I feel that---I don't think that I can go in there just yet. I-- I think I need a minute alone..."   
  
"Of course," said the King, compassion in his voice. Indeed, why had he not thought of that before! What a dreadful strain this whole evening must have been on her: the death of her brother, the capture of her friends, and her petition to the Court. All of this she managed without so much as a tear.  
  
He kissed her hand, and then she parted from him. She walked gracefully away from the entrance to the Dining Hall and glided out of the Throne Room, but she broke into a run as soon as the chamber doors were behind her. She ran, up, then down the stairs, and did not stop until she reached the garden. And there, under the cover of a willow tree by the edge of the pool, her grief overwhelmed her and she wept. 


End file.
